Anastasia: Retold
by J.Fontaine
Summary: With the help of two con-artists, a young orphan afflicted with amnesia embarks on a journey of self-discovery.
1. Escaping the Gray Ghosts

**Disclaimer: I don't own Anastasia, blah blah blah, whoopty-whoop...**

**_And a HUGE thank you to diva beta extraordinaire, the lovely T-R-Us! You're a doll, babe ;)_**

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Ten years felt like an eon in Soviet Russia.

Springs and summers were always fleeting, gone much too soon like a warm smile or hot, fresh bread. The frigid fingers of an icy wind began to caress the leathery necks of the populace sometimes as early as mid-September.

Every long winter was a war pitting man against hunger. In the frozen streets of St. Petersburg, where the very air smelled of factory soot and lost hopes and the ash-gray of the slush along the uneven sidewalks seemed to always match the sky, hunger was victorious over the strongest of men.

The strongest of women, however, was another story indeed.

She had no memory of her life before she awakened and there was only gloom and filthy snow. The vague suggestions she had were very slippery, oily things that constantly slid in and around each other, sometimes twisting and merging into something that was almost recognizable before they danced away again into the black clouds of her mind, mocking her.

For years, Anya had tried hard to forget that she was trying to remember. It was easier to accept that hunger and cold and debilitating want was all there was. But that was over today.

"Pooka! Pooka, where are you?"

She stood there for a few heartbeats, squinting into the darkness between the rotting wooden planks barring the doorway into a palace the size of a small town. The pristine courtyard at her back stretched wide and white and seemed to be as large as the center of St. Petersberg itself. The world around her was silent as the grave as it held its breath, watching. Waiting.

Her fingers were numb and tingling, but it didn't have much to do with the holes in her woolen gloves. Anya couldn't remember what had happened to her. She had no idea what history had been snatched away from her. Up until this day, until this very moment, uncertainty had been in her every heartbeat, pumping in acidic cycles through her veins for as long as she could remember. For the most part, Anya was a smart girl. She had learned how to survive on her own, and quickly. But she knew with crippling clarity that what she was about to do was the single stupidest act she'd ever committed in her life.

But it didn't matter. In the murkiness of that uncertainty, a chance meeting with a withered old woman at the train depot had made several things painfully clear:

One, the dreams that had haunted her for so long could never tell her who she was.

Two, her necklace, which she guarded with her life, was the only link to her "before". It had whispered "Together in Paris" in solid gold during the lonely nights of the orphanage, and that meant France was the key - to herself, to everything.

Three, a man named Dimitri could get her there.

So here she was, half-numb and shivering, perched upon the precipice of the miserable existence she knew and ready to leap headfirst into a swirling abyss of dangerous unknowns. She could be in the fishing village near the orphanage now, maybe huddled in front of the cozy fire of a local pub and gnawing on some boney fish bought with her day's wages from the fish factory. But this decision was more important than the hunger clawing at her stomach. The not knowing was eating her alive from the inside, slowly hollowing out her bones. If she stayed in St. Petersberg, there would be nothing left. She'd be an empty shell, a gray ghost of a woman with no hopes or dreams, one of the millions in the city who drift to work every icy morning in the dirty fog. She would cast no shadows on life at all.

Anya bit her wind-chapped bottom lip, drawing a bit of blood in determination. She would die before she let that happen. If there was any chance of learning something - anything - about where she came from, it was here, contained within these dilapidated walls.

That was it, then. In the likelihood Dimitri wasn't here - and she had to admit, it was a long shot, anyway - it was still as safe a place as any. There was bound to be something like old sheets or coats unfit for wear that she and her misfit pup could bundle up in to keep an arctic death at bay until morning. And if Dimitri _was_ here and couldn't help her, she would just have to help herself.

It was now or never.

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_A/N: I'm baaack!! And I'm sooo excited about this. I won't be on here much, but I just wanted to forewarn everybody: this will be a mature, realistic version of the movie. There will be dark moments. There will be sexytime. There will be some profanity. You know why? Because that's life. The main reason I loved the movie so much was because they made Anya and Dimitri real people, and I wanted to flesh them out even more. So sit back and enjoy, 'cause I'm really gonna dig deep. Feel free to skip the chapters that are too much for you. But you'll be missing out ;) And remember, REVIEWS = LOVE!!!_


	2. The Restless Dead

"Just so you know, this is all your fault."

Vladimir Blagojevich paused, a heavy forkful of a greasy meat dumpling halfway to his open mouth. He raised one bushy eyebrow at the young man glaring at him from across the room.

"How is this my fault? I did my job. I got us the theater; the girls showed up. It is not my fault that some of them were nearly as old as the Empress herself." A long-suffering smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Dimitri punched his hands deep into the pockets of his brown trousers and started to pace the room, making a little track from the low table littered with empty liquor bottles, to the ice frosted windows that stretched from ceiling to floor, to the gargantuan fireplace shimmering with heat. It had been a long time since he'd paced. It had been a long time since he felt this trapped and helpless, and it made him angry.

"Yes, it is. What did you do, post flyers at the local asylum? Every one of them were certifiable nutjobs, Vlad."

Vladimir laughed and polished off what was left on his plate with more enthusiasm than the food deserved. After taking a long sip of the cheap red wine in his glass, he said, "That's what we need, Dimitri. She has to be teachable, but dumb enough not to ask too many questions. How she looks is most important."

Dimitri snorted and let his long legs carry him back to the table. He plopped down in the velvet high-backed chair across from his business partner and friend, crossing his arms over his chest. "It took you two months to get that stupid theater. That's two months we could have been doing jobs. With things how they are, I knew you would need help, and that's why I offered to round up the girls to audition - oh, yes, I did," Dimitri interrupted himself when Vlad rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he continued, his tone simmering with irritation, "the girls you got were useless, and now that two months of work have been in vain we're deep in the hole and don't have enough to pay off the patrol this month. So what the hell are we going to do?"

Dimitri's eyes narrowed to slits as he watched Vladimir shrug and practically rumble with a satisfied sigh, monumentally unconcerned as usual. He stroked his thick mass of graying whiskers, his expression thoughtful. "What we always do," was his noncommittal reply.

Yes, Dimitri thought as he looked away, into the bowels of the fireplace. What we always do. Lie, cheat. Steal. Dabble in all seven of the deadly sins. At least he'd graduated from petty thievery, even though he'd been quite good at it. It would probably still be his occupation of choice if Vladimir hadn't thrust himself into Dimitri's path all those years ago.

With a groan he settled his crossed arms on the edge of the table and rested his forehead on the crook of his elbow. Dimitri could hear Vladimir shift his ample weight in his seat to poke at the glowing embers behind him with the rusted poker. The heat in the enclosed room bloomed in a warm rush and Dimitri reminded himself once again that he would gladly take the sweat trickling down his back over the aching cold of the city outside these walls.

His two front teeth had barely grown in the last time he called this place home, when the palace was alive and seething with light and sound, everywhere the glint of gold and the sweet smell of peppermint and pastries. He worked in the kitchen with an older girl of about fifteen and the fat cook who would smack the back of his hand with her wooden spoon whenever he talked back. Every night he slept in a tiny spartan room in the servants quarters he had shared with his mother, before she -

Dimitri's head jerked up and snapped backward onto his spine of its own accord. This was why he avoided stress like the plague. Visions of the city patrol pounding his skull into bloody pulp with their heavy black boots had snowballed and begun to pick up the debris of memories he had been trying desperately to forget for years. He never spoke to anyone about what happened to her. He wasn't about to start thinking about that now.

It took years of drowning his demons in stolen vodka and lies to get them buried deep enough to not be disturbed in his waking hours. But they were not generous. He learned he could function during the day, but in exchange the ghostly bones of the skeletons he kept so carefully hidden reigned over the kingdom of his nightmares, ruling him from dusk till dawn. He accepted this. It was his punishment for always wanting more than he had.

He shouldn't have saved her. He should have never even dared to look her in the eye before that day. But the youngest daughter of the czar, with her single winking dimple in her left cheek and devilish grin, had him by the heart the moment she looked in his direction for the first time. They had barely spoken twice, but she was everything good in his life, even if she was a royal angel and he was kitchen trash. He had thought that if he saved her, somehow she'd come back to him. But that was then.

He awoke from that endless, flaming night with a throbbing head that felt the size of a melon and a small jeweled box still grasped in his small fingers. Sunlight streamed through the windows across his cheeks, its purity and warmth a sickening contrast to the horrors of blood and screams a few hours before. Crystalline blue eyes had been seared into his mind. He ran from those eyes, swearing he'd never come back to this palace of death.

Yet, here he was.

Vladimir turned back to the sulking Dimitri. He reached over to pat his arm with a meaty hand. "There was one girl who would have been passable."

Annoyed by the interruption of his self-piteous train of thought, Dimitri scowled up at him before he grabbed the wine and took a long drink straight from the bottle. "What?"

"The girl at the theater, the one with the large breasts and brown hair. What was her name?"

Dimitri grimaced more from the memory than the bitterness of the wine. "_Iliana?_ Jesus, Vlad, she had a face like a turtle. No amount of makeup would make the Empress believe her granddaughter grew up to be that ugly."

Chuckling low in his throat, Vladimir retrieved the bottle before easing back. The chair creaked dangerously beneath him. "She was not too ugly for my bed."

Dimitri almost choked on his mouthful of wine. "Please, consider my virgin ears. Aren't you a little old for that?"

Vladimir merely shook his head and grinned, lacing his ham-like fingers over his burgeoning belly before he replied, "I am older, yes, but not dead. You are still young, Dimitri. As the years go by, you will learn."

Laughing in spite of himself, Dimitri replied, "I hope I never have to learn to get past a face like that."

And just like that, the tension between them had eased. Vladimir had always known what to say to put things into perspective. When the moment passed into an easy silence once more, the older man's voice came quietly. "We will find her, my boy."

Dimitri's jaw was set as his brown eyes assessed a set so much like his own. They were not related, but Vladimir was family. The unlikely pair had taken care of each other in worse times than these. "I have to get out of this city, Vlad."

Vladimir smiled, understanding more than his young friend could ever realize. "I know."

Then there was a sudden noise, a distant thump, like something large had been knocked over in the opposite wing of the palace.

Dimitri frowned. "Did you hear something?"

"No."

With a sigh, Dimitri stood and headed for the door, but not before pausing to assure himself that he had remembered to slip his hunting knife back into his boot. Vagrants could be trouble.


	3. To Dance in Ashes

Apparently, heavy wooden boards and rusty nails were no match for raw will.

A few hesitant steps brought Anya into the thick shadows just beyond the palace doors.

Pale rays of frigid sunlight reflected off the courtyard's blanket of snow and danced across the jagged edges of shattered glass that littered the floor, a graveyard of broken windowpanes. Her feet were silent and quick as she picked her way through them and made her way up the the wide staircase, onto an expansive landing covered with ruined carpet the color of blood.

"Hello?" she called out, cringing as her hollow voice skittered up the faded walls, tangling in the cobwebs that draped nearly every surface like banners of dirty silk.

Silence swallowed her whole. Anya had to strain to hear past the heartbeat pounding at her eardrums, and beyond that there was a vacuum - no wind whistling through cracks, no soft groans of old wood settling in the cold. It was more than a little disquieting, really, the infinite sound of...nothing. It was so substantial and complete it almost seemed like a solid mass, something to push through or drown in. It made the gentle squish of her boots on the damp carpet as she came to a halt sound like the roar of a waterfall.

She stood still for a moment, blinking into the darkness, letting her eyes adjust to the change in environment.

Around her, the sprawling palace began to reveal itself in wary increments.

A filthy border of cracked, imported marble slowly emerged from the void, stretching beyond Anya's feet into places filled with secrets. Tattered drapes of heavy crepe or velvet hung limp and sickly against the cold, towering windows. Intricate carvings in wood and faded plaster curled in and out of every corner and twined around curvaceous doorways. They stood out in sad, crumbling relief against the peeling walls. Everything rested behind a delicate shroud of gray dust. Anya could see the particles drifting down from the air far above her head, settling on her coat like ashes.

It was difficult to ignore that she had already become saturated by the sweet, musky fragrance of decay. The scent had found her when she stepped over the threshold and had settled in her lungs and now every breath she took tasted of stale smoke and grief.

She moved forward with shaking hands.

A journey up another grand set of stairs and Anya found herself at the entrance to a large room filled with tarnished treasures. A long table, still dressed in the celebratory linen from a decade ago, had become the final resting place for empty serving platters and drinking goblets, candelabras as tall as young men, gravy boats and fruit stands turned on their sides in repose.

Anya had just tiptoed through the doorway to investigate when she felt a sharp tingle at the base of her spine, something so close to fear that she whipped around to see if she was being followed.

There was nothing. Only yawning emptiness.

She turned back and tread deeper, drawn closer to the table, and the feeling grew and grew until she felt like she had been shot through with light.

It was these things, these relics that had escaped the black market and the squallor of the city's streets. They were almost... _familiar_ somehow...

Even after she swore she wouldn't touch anything, one of thost grimy silver platters found itself caught in her grip. She huffed and blew a ragged half moon in the dust. A distorted reflection blinked back at her.

Memory stirred, disturbed by that prickling familiarity. Images swirled in her mind's eye, snapshots advancing and retreating in a swirling kaleidoscope before they condensed into a laughing man with a dark beard...a girl in a dress the color of powdered emeralds...

She blinked again and it was gone.

It didn't return, even when she stared long enough into the warped metal to make her eyes burn. Something like a sob took up residence in her chest.

She replaced the platter and backed away from the table, retreating into the cavernous hallway. Shivers assaulted her as she moved into what appeared to be the grand ballroom.

Nicholas Hall, as it had been known back then, was a universe unto itself where the light streamed freely through frosted windows that reached high as heaven, forming silver pools on a waxed floor scuffed by the dancing shoes of the idle wealthy. The late royal family kept watch from their dull portraits along the walls, eyeing Anya as she descended the steps.

Here, the air felt alive.

This room had been the heart of the palace, pumping music and laughter through the vein-like hallways into every room and chamber. Anya could picture fine ladies in gowns that shimmered under the candlelight dripping down from crystal chandeliers, bejeweled butterflies of every hue that fluttered around handsome men in smart uniforms as they danced and smiled. All around her she felt the fleeting movements of the dead and forgotten.

The residue of joys long past still hung in the air. Even the odor of decomposition here was different - decadent, deep and rich and flowery, like dried roses. When she closed her eyes, she could hear the notes of a soft waltz slinking along the moldings, the vaulted ceilings, easing over her skin like warm satin.

She hadn't realized it, but she was dancing, too.

"Hey! What are you doing in here?!"

Anya jumped like a frightened cat and whirled around at source of the male voice. It came from the upper landing of the staircase that led to where she stood, but whoever was yelling at her was still painted in shadow.

Instinct screamed, and she did what came naturally when fear shoved her hammering heart into her throat.

She ran.


	4. Ten Million Little Lies

**Sooo sorry it took so long to get this up! I promise I will try not to go any longer than a week between updates, at least after the next chapter (need a break!). To thank you for your patience, please enjoy this extra-long chapter of Anya/Dimitri action! Mwa!**

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"Hey!" Dimitri hollered again, gripping the banister as he watched the bedraggled female turn and bolt for the opposite stairs.

"Dammit..."

He easily took the wide steps three or four at a time as he bounded onto the ballroom floor after her. Vladimir waddled down behind him in pursuit.

Dimitri was possessive. He had no problem admitting it. No matter how merciless the memories that gnawed at him, all of the pivotal events in his life - the brittle moments of loneliness, even the brief, shattering joy of a royal smile meant only for him - all happened here. This palace was his, his own personal shrine to the past. It was neglected, in ruins. But it was his to wallow in for as long as he saw fit.

It was because of this that he hated for the undesirable elements of the city to seep in, disturbing the calm with their loud rummaging and bodies that smelled of urine and stale sweat. The cold threat of his knife usually took care of an infestation.

When he discovered the girl, however, she had been dancing to a muted melody in the ballroom, her face relaxed and dreamy, completely alone save for the shadows that mimicked her movements on the walls. It would be ridiculous to suggest that Dimitri was comfortable with pulling his knife out on a woman, let alone one so obviously mentally ill. But still, she had to go.

He'd just very politely escort her out.

As a man who made a living off of his silver tongue, Dimitri was quite unaccustomed to such strenuous activity. His heart was pounding and his lungs burned by the time he stumbled to a halt at the base of the second staircase, now more closely resembling a carpeted mountain. She was already at the peak and headed for the nearest hallway.

He had had enough. It would have been easier to just let her leave, but he wanted to make absolutely certain she wasn't going to try and come back or reveal his grand hideout to the authorities.

"Hey, stop! Stop! Hold on a minute - hold on!"

She stopped, her back to him.

His words came like a barrage of barbed arrows once he caught his breath, punishing her for daring to breach his walls. "How did you get in here?"

When he received no response, Dimitri took several threatening steps towards her, up the stairs. "Did you hear what I said? Who the hell are you?"

This time he observed her through narrowed eyes as she pivoted slowly in her worn out boots. Her chest heaved. Her mouth was slack as her eyes met his, a mix of fear and humiliation stamped onto her features.

Dimitri blinked.

_Holy shit._

The drifter was looking down her nose at him, and from his line of sight it appeared that she was cheek to cheek with the image of his Anastasia, forever imprisoned inside of her family's portrait.

Anastasia was smiling. This ragged girl was not.

But hell if he could tell the difference between them.

He stared and stared for what could have been days, analyzing, comparing, searching for holes in the plan that was already knitting itself together inside of his head. A winded Vladimir hustled up to his side.

"Excuse me, child," he wheezed politely at the intruder, ever the gentleman, but Dimitri's sudden grip on his arm brought him up short.

"Vlad, in the name of all that's holy, please tell me you see what I see," he whispered. He couldn't take the chance that desperation was making him hallucinate. His wide eyes still hadn't left her face.

She was glaring at them now. Her shoulders lifted and dropped as if saying, _what the hell are you looking at?_

Vladimir quickly removed his spectacles from their perch atop his balding head and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose. His sharp intake of breath was all the confirmation Dimitri needed.

"My God," the older man breathed in awe, his hand clasping Dimitri's shoulder and squeezing. "She is perfect. She is the one."

And she was, more so than Dimitri had ever dared to hope.

She wasn't exactly pretty, not with the deep hollows in her cheeks and hair like russet-colored straw and dingy shadows smudged under her eyes. But that didn't matter at all. Not when those eyes were the color of salvation.

A clear, deep, striking, perfect Romanov blue.

It was as if the God Dimitri felt had been absent his entire life had suddenly reached down from on high with a slap on the back for a job well done.

All three heads snapped to the left of their own accord at the displaced sound of barking. A small ball of mottled gray fur shot up the steps between Vladimir and Dimitri, headed straight for the astonishing girl with eyes like jewels. She calmly scooped the pup up into her arms and held him against her heart.

"Are you Dimitri?" She sounded exasperated, if not a bit confused. Her voice was mellow and sweet and had a husky quality that made Dimitri think of smoked honey.

He raised an eyebrow and shrank the wide gap of air and space between them, moving to stand right in front of her on the landing. "Perhaps. That all depends on who's looking for him."

"My name is Anya," she proclaimed in an attempt at an official tone, raising her stubborn little chin into the air. "I need travel papers."

Dimitri smirked. The hard glint in her eye told him she was far too coherent to be crazy. Strange, yes, but definitely not crazy.

She leaned toward him, adding in a conspiratorial undertone, "They say you're the man to see..."

Her rambling continued as she whispered something about not being able to tell him who had supplied that information, but Dimitri barely heard her. He was too busy trying to fit his new project into Anastasia's gilded mold. This girl's hair wasn't long enough and much too shabby and dull. He tilted his head and caught sight of her fingernails. They were broken and dirty. Her lips were dry and cracked and - Jesus, was that blood?

"Hey, what - why are you circling me? What, were you a vulture in another life?" Her forehead had wrung itself into a frown. She gave him a black look and put her hands on her hips - at least, where her hips should be. It was difficult to tell what was what under the patched sack of a coat she was wearing.

Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest, a slow grin spreading across his cheeks. So she had some personality, too.

"I'm sorry, Enya - "

"It's Anya," she corrected. She poked him hard in the chest with her finger. "An - ya."

He held his hands up in surrender, all humble apologies. "Right. _Anya._ Sorry...it's just that you look an awful lot like..." He trailed off and gestured vaguely at Anastasia behind them. Anya looked over her shoulder at the painting, then back at him, eyes wide and blank.

Dimitri glanced back at Vladimir, who had remained mute and observant during their exchange. He winked, urging his young friend on with a silent _"work your magic"._

"Never mind," Dimitri recovered quickly, smooth as polished marble. "Now, you said something about travel papers?" It didn't really matter, but he wanted to start with small talk, to take his time. He could already tell he was going to need to lay it on thick to make his case. He'd promise to get her anywhere she wanted to go, even if he had to carry her there on his back - whatever it took to convince her to play the lead in the biggest con in history. His life depended on it.

She took a deep breath. "Uh, yes. I need to go to Paris."

Dimitri stared again. "What?"

Sighing, she scratched her dog's ears and looked at him like he was a first-class imbecile. "Paris. You know, France?"

She wanted to go to Paris. As in the City of Light. As in the location of the elderly Dowager Empress, the only living blood relative of a Grand Duchess he'd been planning to package and sell to the old woman for years.

He was instantly suspicious. This had to be some elaborate hoax the universe had contrived for its own amusement. He'd had to claw and sweat and toil through his entire life and _now_ his future gets handed to him on a silver platter?

It couldn't be that easy.

"Let me ask you something - Anya, was it? Is there a last name that goes with that?"

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Anya's eyes shifted away from his. She stiffened and clutched her dog so tightly he let out a tiny yelp. Patting its head apologetically, she said, "I...I don't have one - I mean, I _do_, but I don't know what it is." She chewed her lip.

"You don't know your parents, child?" Vladimir asked at last, positioning himself on the stairs a few steps below them. The eyes behind his lenses were glassy with sympathy, but Dimitri couldn't tell if the emotion was real or not.

She looked at Vladimir then and answered, her voice like steel. "No. An old lady found me wandering around when I was eight. She took care of me for a while, but when she got sick she took me to St. Olga's. I got out a couple of days ago."

God, St. Olga's. Dimitri winced internally at the mention of the abominable orphanage situated along the frayed edge of the city, where the neighborhood scum collected and people burned their rancid trash in the streets. Rumors caught up with him years ago about the things that went on there, many of them unspeakable. Her eyes were practically glowing with desperation. He knew exactly what that felt like.

He cleared his throat and Anya turned back to him, obviously annoyed with the conversation in general. "And before that, before you were eight - "

"I don't remember, okay?" she snapped, eyes crackling with blue flame. "I know it sounds crazy, and I know you probably think I'm a lunatic, but -" she broke off, swallowed, closed her eyes, opened them again. "Look, it doesn't matter. You don't know me; I don't know you. Or you," she added, cutting her eyes at Vladimir. He only smiled, apparently impressed. "The only thing you need to know, _Dimitri_, is that I need to go to Paris. So can you help me or not?"

If the city was all she wanted, Dimitri thought, he could give her that easily enough. "Uh, we sure would like to. Oddly enough we're going to Paris ourselves."

He almost laughed out loud when her face lit up like a brand new morning. She would do anything to be on the first train out of St. Petersburg. Perfect.

Almost as if on cue, Vladimir slipped Dimitri three expired tickets to the Russian Circus. Dimitri was very careful to reveal only the wrong side of the soiled paper to Anya's starving eyes as he said, "I actually have three tickets here...but unfortunately the third one is for her, Anastasia." Her gaze followed his to the painting before she rolled her eyes.

"Anastasia." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"She's dead." Anya lapsed, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Or do you know something I don't?"

Vladimir chuckled, the sound like soft thunder in the silence that swirled around them. "This was never confirmed. No one truly knows what happened to her."

"Hmm." Dimitri crossed his feet at the ankle and carefully arranged his face into a mask of thoughtfulness. "You said you couldn't remember what happened to you, right?"

"So?"

"So, she was around eight years old when she disappeared."

Anya cocked an unkempt eyebrow. "Are you going somewhere with this?"

"You _do_ kind of resemble her, you know. Around the same age, same eyes...same chin..."

"She even has the grandmother's hands," Vladimir supplied.

Anya threw her head back and erupted with laughter. "Are you serious? You think I'm her?"

"Look, all I'm saying is I've seen thousands of girls all over the country and _not one_ of them looks as much like the Grand Duchess as you. I mean, can you honestly prove that you're _not_ Anastasia?" It was taking a lot of effort to remain calm and nonchalant about the whole thing, but Dimitri didn't want to frighten her off. He couldn't give in to the urge to just throw her over his shoulder and be done with it.

"Come with me," Vladimir said kindly, taking her hand and leading her to the portrait of the Dowager Empress near the window. "We are going to reunite the Grand Duchess Anastasia with her grandmother...in Paris."

"You're making this up," Anya accused.

"Why is this so hard to believe?" Dimitri pressed as he walked over to join them. "You don't know what happened to you..."

"No one knows what happened to her," Vladimir joined in, waiting for Dimitri to springboard off his comment.

"You're looking for family in Paris," said Dimitri.

"And her only family is in Paris," Vladimir finished, squeezing her hand.

Anya was still incredulous. She looked from one to the other before turning on her heel to go back down the stairs, roughly elbowing Dimitri out of the way. "Both of you are insane. I'll just see myself out, thanks."

Before his brain could process the movement, Dimitri's hand reached out to grab her arm. It was like clutching a warm bone. There couldn't be an ounce of fat on her body with arms like that... "Wait a minute, just hear us out - "

She snatched her arm out of his grasp, her temple throbbing and her lips forming a grim line before she growled, "Okay, one - you don't ever put your hands on me. Ever. Two, do I look like a fucking duchess to you?" She gestured angrily at her coat, which was the color of muddy puddles and was torn at random intervals. "Three, even _if_ I decided to lose my mind and agree with all this, what guarantee do I have that you're not lying?"

The lie was out of his mouth and into the world before he realized he had spoken.

"There's no sinister ulterior motive here. Just the knowledge that we brought peace to a lonely old woman and a nice vacation in 'Gay Paree' for our trouble. I hear it's lovely this time of year."

Vladimir coughed. "Uh, Dimitri - "

"So you're telling me there's no reward? No money? Nothing?" Anya's eyes bored into Dimitri's. He could feel them burrowing for truth. They wouldn't find it.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm telling you. There might have been years ago, but not now. At least, we haven't heard differently, right Vlad?"

Though his eyebrows had nearly hit his hairline, Vladimir shook his head.

Dimitri watched Anya stroke her little dog, deep in thought. _Chyort voz'mi_, he thought. Damn it, make a decision. His stomach churned; he could feel the warm prickle of sweat preparing to escape the skin of his upper lip. He hadn't had to work this hard in years.

When it became apparent she was still floundering in indecision, he hit her with his best shot.

"Listen, I have no reason to lie to you. I can't even begin to tell you how bad I want to get out of this godforsaken country. You do, too. I can see it in your eyes. But what I _can_ tell you is with this crazy government, you'll never get out on your own. We're the only ones who can help you within three hundred miles of this city, and if you want a ticket, you're gonna have to trust me."

He focused his entire being on projecting the image of an earnest young man with nothing but charity in his heart. When she bit her lip, and the shallow impressions in her forehead relaxed, he could tell she was softening. He was so close...so close...

"Anya," he murmured, begging her with chocolate eyes, "we're not going to hurt you. I know you don't have faith in yourself, but we do - I do. All I'm asking is that you have a little faith in me."

He offered her a wan little smile before he turned away. "Let's go, Vlad."

When the pair were out of earshot, Vladimir took his protégé to task in a fierce whisper. "What are you doing? Why didn't you tell her about our brilliant plan?"

"All she wants to do is go to Paris," Dimitri replied reasonably. "Why give away a third of the reward money?"

Vladimir wagged a finger at him. "I'm telling you, we are walking away too soon..."

"Relax, old man. I've got it all under control. Alright but - walk a little slower."

Any second and he would have her.

"Dimitri - "

"Wait for it..."

Three...two...one...

"Dimitri! Dimitri, wait!"

Hook, line and sinker.

When they turned back, Anya was flying down the steps to meet them on the ballroom floor while the dog yapped in alarm.

"Did you call me?" Dimitri asked with feigned innocence.

"Okay. I don't remember anything about my past, so there is a possibility - a really remote possibility - that I could be this woman's granddaughter, right?"

Dimitri nodded his agreement. "Mh-hmm. Go on."

"Right, so I go to Paris with you guys, and we meet her."

"That would be correct."

"And if I'm not Anastasia, she would know right away and then it's all just an honest mistake."

"And, if you _are_ the Grand Duchess," Vladimir offered, reeling her in to be gutted, "you'll finally know who you are and have your family back!"

"He's right," Dimitri agreed. He was grinning so hard it was giving him a headache. "Either way, it gets you to Paris." He stuck out his hand.

She hesitated before she allowed their eyes to connect. The hope she must have felt made the dark sapphire shade lighten slightly to that of a cloudless sky at twilight. Dimitri felt oddly exposed, like she could see just how black his soul was if she looked hard enough.

"What the hell, right?" she said with a shrug, and his bones cracked painfully in protest when she finally shook his hand to seal their agreement. Jesus Christ, she shook hands like a man. They would definitely have to work on that.

Anya was about to bubble out of her boots with excitement. She bobbed up and down, looking expectantly from Dimitri to Vladimir and back again.

"So, now what?"

Dimitri beamed. Very soon, ten million _rubles_ would be in his hands, one for every lie he had ever told.

* * *

Hey, y'all! I know it's been a while since I posted, so I just wanted to let you know that I haven't abandoned the story! I told myself that I had to make headway on my own manusciprt before I could get back to fanfiction, so that's what I'm doing. I'll hopefully have a couple of new chapters for you guys within the next week or so!


	5. Waiting Games

_Hey, y'all! Long time no talk to, right? Life gets kind of crazy when you're trying to write a novel and work, especially when you're a chronic procrastinator. Anya and Dimitri, however, won't let me go until I finish this, so here I am again! Enjoy (or not), review because I need it, and keep in mind that this chapter has yet to be beta'd, so be kind when it comes to any minor mistakes I might have missed. I couldn't wait anymore to get this up :D Next chapter will hopefully be up by next week. Until then, love ya's! - J.F_

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"Pooka, we're going Paris!" The dog barked in agreement and wriggled in Anya's arms, mirroring his master's excitement.

"The dog stays," Dimitri said, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. He and his fat friend were leading Anya back across the ballroom toward the main staircase. Anya immediately stopped, planting her feet into a pool of topaz splashed across the floor by the dying sun outside of the windows. She put Pooka down and put her hands on her hips. It was a gesture that was quickly becoming habit when dealing with Dimitri.

"What are you talking about? The dog goes."

Dimitri didn't even bother to slow his pace or turn around. "No, the dog does _not_ go."

In an instant, Anya went from mildly irritated to flushed with anger. People had been turning their backs on her for as long as she could remember, and she would be damned if she let it happen even one more day. All that was over. Better to nip Dimitri's attitude in the bud here and now.

"Hey," she said as she rushed forward, grabbing a handful of the faded green fabric of his shirt sleeve. He whipped around to face her. His expression suggested shock that she had the audacity to touch him when she had so pointedly informed him that he was never to do the same to her. Frowning at her own logic, she let him go and stepped back.

She took a breath to calm herself. This was going to be a long evening if she couldn't get a grip. "I say the dog goes."

"Well, I say he doesn't, and just in case you've already forgotten, I run this show." Dimitri made a face, one that said, 'I know so much more than you, moron, so keep quiet,' and Anya found herself exasperated again despite her personal resolve to remain calm and logical.

She couldn't help it. She stomped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring Vladimir's chuckling from Dimitri's side. "And why not, exactly? Are you jealous? Your mommy never gave you one, so now you're taking it out on me?"

Vladimir, apparently enjoying the exchange and loathed to see it end, half-heartedly said to Dimitri, "It's just a small dog. Why not let her bring him along? We can feed him scraps."

Dimitri threw him a look that bordered on filthy. "I'm allergic to dogs."

Vladimir pouted playfully and nudged him in the side but Dimitri only grimaced and waved him away. Sighing, he looked back at Anya and groused, "You're not going to let this go until I give in, are you?"

Anya smirked. "Nope."

"Fine. Bring the stupid dog. But watch him, alright? I'd better not find him chewing up my shoes. That dog doesn't like me."

Anya's grin was downright sugary with her small victory. "He's not the only one, believe me."

Dimitri grunted in response and the trio continued their trek up the staircase and into the hall from which Dimitri and Vladimir had emerged. Anya trailed a bit behind, examining the different flowers in the wallpaper and the people encased in frames even taller than Dimitri was. Pooka darted in and out of nearby shadows, always returning to nip at Anya's ankles, to remind her that he was there and that she wasn't alone.

But that sick, hollow feeling, the one that kept her up at night and brought her to this palace, let her know that for now, alone was what she was going to be.

Dimitri and Vladimir spoke only to each other in hushed tones. Every now and again Anya would catch the flicking of their eyes in her direction in the light from the oil lamp Vladimir had picked up from a table outside of the ballroom. It was maddening. Vladimir was...alright, she supposed. He was nice enough and didn't make her feel like socking him in the nose whenever he opened his mouth like Dimitri did. Lanky, smooth-talking Dimitri, however, reminded her of childhood toothaches and lice - irritating, infuriating, but something you had to deal with until you could get what you needed to get rid of them.

Since Anya wasn't in a position to be picky, she would just have to deal with Dimitri's mouth until he got her to Paris. After that, who really knew? Maybe she would just give them the slip and take off. She could find a menial job somewhere. She could learn French. She was capable and smart, and the next time Dimitri tried to suggest otherwise with his condescending tone, she just might have to educate him with her fist. His crooked nose already looked like he'd been popped one too many times, probably for the same reason. Once more wouldn't make much difference.

Tired of being ignored, Anya cleared her throat. "Are we walking out of town here, or what? We've been headed this way forever. Where are we going?"

Dimitri sighed - again - and told her, "To our room, Your Grace. We need to get some sleep before we head out in the morning."

"The morning?" Anya repeated, frowning hard. What were they waiting for? "I thought we were leaving now."

"The train depot is closed now. You're not going anywhere tonight, unless you'd like to walk to Paris on your own. Which you're more than welcome to do, by the way."

They finally stopped in front of one of the hundreds of doors that lined both sides of the hall, all of them gilded and a little moldy. This one made a smacking sound like it was sticky when Dimitri opened it and stepped over the threshold after Vladimir.

Anya was about to follow suit when Dimitri stopped her and leaned on the doorframe. He blinked at her from beneath the hair that she noticed had fallen into his eyes again before he brushed it aside with an impatient hand. He really should cut it instead of batting at it all the time, Anya thought.

"What?"

"You don't have to stay in here with us if you don't want," he said, sounding uneasy, his eyes darting around the space surrounding Anya's head. "You don't know us, like you stated before, and I don't want to make you...uncomfortable. We can give you your own room, I mean. If you like."

Anya would have laughed in his face if he hadn't seemed so sincere. The small pocket knife she kept in her coat gave her enough confidence to say, "As long I don't have to sleep in your bed to get a train ticket, we're fine."

Dimitri laughed. It was genuine and clear, and the way his face lit up a little startled Anya somewhat. He looked like a totally different person. A nice person.

His smile faded quickly under Anya's stare, and after a moment he stepped aside to let she and Pooka in before he closed the door behind him.

A fire was roaring and the room was uncomfortably warm, but Anya wasn't about to take off her coat. This room was almost identical to the one where she found the silver platter, except that it didn't have as many windows and didn't smell so much like dust. Vladimir left them with a nod to Dimitri and a kiss for the back of Anya's hand before he ambled off to his bed beyond the columns that divided the room in half.

"Anya."

Anya turned away from fingering the curves of the fireplace, the biggest she had ever seen.

"There's...ah, some food still here if you want some. It's not much, but it'll get you by until morning."

Her eyes found the half-eaten plate of pastry on the table off the Dimitri's side. She tried to smile.

"Um...I'm okay. Thanks, though."

"Suit yourself," Dimitri replied, shrugging a little. "You can take the _chaise longue _- "

"The what?" Anya asked, confused. She looked around the room for the fifth time. The only thing she saw was a long blue couch.

"The _couch_...over there by the fire," Dimitri said with a grimace, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus."

"Oh." Anya was far too worked up now over the prospect of leaving the country to take offense, so she strode over to what she'd learned was the _chaise_ and sat stiffly in the middle, close to the edge.

For a long time, the only sound between the two of them was the crackling of the fire and Dimitri's uncomfortable cough.

"Well...it's almost nine now. We'll be leaving around four in the morning, so try to get some rest. We have a very long journey ahead of us."

"I'll be ready," Anya told him, her eyes never leaving the tongues of flame warring with each other behind the fire screen.

He didn't say anything further, and she felt more than heard him disappear somewhere behind her.

She beckoned Pooka with a soft whistle and he hopped up onto her lap, settling in with a yawn. He was asleep almost immediately.

Any other time, Anya might have been inclined to join him, but not tonight. The buzzing of her nerves and the tightness of every muscle would keep the specter of sleep away for now, and that was just fine. She didn't want to risk waking to find all of this a dream, even if a few of the characters in it - one in particular - were miniature nightmares.


	6. Do svidaniya

_Back again! I so adore writing from Dimitri's POV! I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it. And as always, thanks to T-R-Us for whipping this chapter into shape :D_

A fully grown Anastasia starred in Dimitri's nightmares that night.

She was perched on the edge of a golden throne, her hands folded carefully in her lap as she smirked down at him kneeling at her feet. The ink blue silk of her gown pooled around his knees and he stared into its folds because he couldn't look at her.

"I love you," he whispered, the words all but strangling him. She was silent until he dared to meet her eyes. Then she threw her head back and laughed at him.

Dimitri woke with a start, his upper lip dotted with sweat.

"Hey."

He rolled over and onto Anya's foot. She was standing over him with her arms crossed. "Wake up. I couldn't find a clock, but I think the sun is about to come up."

Dimitri stared up at her, frowning hard enough to close his eyes again, unable to respond. Anya's uncanny likeness to the Grand Duchess in his mind had him trapped in remnants of that horrible dream. He could still hear Anastasia's laughter echoing cruelly in his ears.

One of Anya's hands pulled free a thin gold chain from the recesses of her coat. She began fiddling with its pendant, gripping it and releasing it to thump lightly against her chest. "And just what the hell is wrong with you?"

With a long sigh, Dimitri relaxed. Thankfully, Anya's usual genteel manner was enough to remind him that she originated in the streets, not the Peterhof Palace.

"Hello?" Anya said, leaning down and waving a hand at Dimitri's face when he only sat up and glanced around the room, apparently disoriented. "What is your problem? You look like you just sat on the wrong end of a broom."

Dimitri cleared his throat and glared at his watch. "It's 3:30. Would it have killed you to let me sleep for fifteen more minutes?"

Anya cocked her head a little. "Maybe." She bounced to her feet. "I couldn't wait anymore. And I was tired of listening to you snore."

"I don't snore." Dimitri eased himself from the floor, groaning all the way. He had never been a morning person.

While he stretched, he watched Anya go back into the sitting area and sit down on the arm of the chaise longue. The fire was nothing but dead ashes now, and so it would stay. If things panned out the way he'd planned, he wouldn't have to light that fireplace ever again.

He walked over to a nearby table where a cracked porcelain bowl and matching water pitcher were kept. After dumping half of the water into the bowl and splashing his face a few times, he asked, "What happened to Vlad? Did you run him off?"

He looked over his shoulder just in time to catch Anya's sour look. "I think I woke him up an hour ago with my pacing...but he was sweet enough to take Pooka out to do his business." She bit her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes at him, as if she were searching for something. "Why can't you be more like him?"

Dimitri looked away from her. "Because I'm not old and jaded yet."

"Who are you calling old?" Vlad asked as he walked in with Pooka in his arms, then winked at Anya.

She smiled at him and held her arms out to accept the wriggling ball of fur. "Could you tell your grumpy friend to hurry up?" She made a face and pressed her nose to Pooka's. "We don't want to miss our train, do we, Pooka?" Pooka whimpered and licked at her chin.

"We should hurry, my boy," Vlad agreed, stamping the last remnants of slush off of his boots before he crossed between the two of them to their sleeping area. He returned dragging a leather suitcase the color of strong coffee. It was almost as large as he was.

Dimitri's suitcase was a quite a bit smaller and an oily black. If a con required it, it also doubled as a briefcase for a government official or lawyer or whoever he was pretending to be. While drying his face off on his sleeve, he spotted it nestled in the blankets of his sleeping pallet. In his line of work, one never knew when one would have to run for one's life, so he kept all of his clothes and books carefully locked inside at all times.

With a weary sigh, he walked over and picked it up, running a hand over the smooth leather and the silver clasps, the metal chilly from the death of the fire. His entire life could be contained within a box no bigger than his pillow and no deeper than a chamber pot. He winced and tried not to dwell on how depressing that was.

"I have the travel papers in my coat," Vlad said in his ear, shaking him from his daze. Dimitri looked past him at Anya walking back and forth in front of the fireplace, playing with Pooka's paws.

"Are you sure they're right this time? I heard they changed the format again - "

"Dimitri, don't worry. Let's just get to the train station before our girl paces a hole in the floor."

"Fine."

As Vlad walked toward the door, Dimitri shook his head at himself. The handle of the suitcase was beginning to slide against his sweaty palm. Was he actually nervous? He never would have believed the thought of leaving the palace would make him more anxious than the dismal prospect of staying.

His eyes scanned the room one last time as he drew on his coat, taking in every speck of dust, the tarnish on the silver candelabras, the cracks in the painted plaster ceiling. All so familiar, all his. He felt like he was abandoning his family. With a strange ache in his chest, he took a deep breath and sighed his last goodbye.

He focused his attention again on Anya, now paused in the middle of the room, completely exasperated and staring at him in that unnerving way of hers. She huffed, "Are you ready now?"

Dimitri smiled to cover the knot in his gut. This was it, his last chance. Failure was not an option now. Her eyes had better buy him his freedom or he just might have to do it with a gun in his mouth.

Vlad was already in the hallway. Dimitri bowed low in an absurd display of mock humility and held the door open for Anya. "After you, Your Highness." He chuckled when she stuck her narrow little nose in the air and sauntered past him. "Now, if you would, humble servant," she quipped when she turned to watch him close the door, "kindly move your ass."

And move they did. They were out of the courtyard and on the street in time to catch the mouthwatering scent of the neighborhood bakeries pulling the morning's first loaves from the oven, before it mixed with the noxious, acrid scent of the awakening city.

Dimitri could have easily led their little group down the main thoroughfare, across the canal and straight to the station, but nostalgia pulled him down the little streets and back alleys he remembered from his youth. Life had been cruel to him, but there were still some fond memories lurking in the tiny coffee shop where he made his first honest dollar, or the ramshackle house where the first girl he had ever made love to had lived. He knew every pothole and condemned building like they were pieces of himself, and he was perfectly content to ignore Anya's complaining as he revisited them one last time.

The sun was just beginning to ease into the perpetually leaden sky when they came to the busy intersection in front of the train station.

"Dimitri," Anya whined, "I'm going to die if we don't eat soon..."

Dimitri rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, pulling her into a run across the street. She pulled away from him as they stopped to allow Vladimir to catch his breath.

Anya looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

"For the hundredth time, Anya, we are not stopping. You can feed your face when we get on the train."

She sighed and blew her bangs out of her eyes before she turned her back on him.

When Vladimir pointed to their platform near the other end of the terminal, they began to push their way inside through the crush of other people vying for escape from the city. The conductor hollered the last call just as Vladimir was climbing behind Dimitri and Anya into the second to last car. Dimitri had to walk sideways down the hallway, barely wide enough for Vlad to get through without crushing passersby. Dimitri found an empty compartment and slid the door open for his companions.

"Finally!" Anya made a beeline for the window and plopped down on one of the long, pewlike benches. "Now we can eat."

"Jesus Christ!" Dimitri exclaimed through clenched teeth, setting down his suitcase before turning on Anya. "Are you five years old? You can wait until the train gets moving. Then we'll all go to the dining car together. Just...relax."

"I can't relax, alright? Too jumpy. I need to do...something. Like eat. I haven't done that in a few days." She was flicking the pendant of her chain with her pinky now and jiggling one leg like she had to use the toilet.

"I think you didn't get enough sleep," Dimitri observed. The dark circles under her eyes were starting to resemble bruises. They made the blue of her irises that much more striking.

"I didn't sleep at all," she told him. "I couldn't."

Lucky you, Dimitri thought, and let the subject drop.

Five minutes later, the train jerked and began moving sluggishly down the track. Dimitri wiped the fog off the window and peered past the ice clinging to the glass. It was like looking at a photograph of everything he knew, and as the train picked up speed, the image began to blur until he could see nothing but the whiteness of December snow. A clean slate.


	7. Royalty 101

_A/N: Back again! And the fun is just beginning, people. By the way, I think my beta died on me, y'all. Please keep this in mind if you find this chapter less than stellar..._

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Anya groaned out loud, nearly intoxicated as all the pickled fish, potatoes and other buttery, flaky delights she had eaten crowded her belly to the brink.

The hunger had been there for so long, lingering like an itch she could never properly scratch no matter how many scraps she could spirit away into her pockets. Food - filling, savory, delicious food - was a luxury she'd never been able to partake of, until now. And she was overwhelmed.

Grinning and more than a little drowsy, she slumped deeper into the cushions of her curvy dining chair with a sigh, sucking the last bit of gravy from her fingertips. She'd just caught a droplet that was making its way down her wrist with a swipe of her tongue when she looked up and caught Dimitri's eyes. Again.

A belch erupted from her chest without warning, loud enough for the couple dressed in furs and diamonds seated at the table nearby to glance over, their prim features pinched in disgust.

Dimitri and Vladimir gaped at her in disbelief, but it was Dimitri who hissed, "For the love of God, Anya."

"What?" Anya laughed. "I didn't mean to; it just happened."

He looked over his shoulder at their fellow dining car patrons still watching their exchange and threw them a tight smile. His eyes moved over the two full plates of food she'd finished mere minutes ago, then flashed at her.

"Let me ask you a question," he said, leaning forward, his voice low and cold in the space between them. "Where are you going?"

This time Anya trapped the belch behind her lips and swallowed it down before answering him. "What are you talking about?"

Vladimir laced his fingers behind his head and settled in with a chuckle.

"It's a simple question."

"To Paris, I guess," Anya answered, her shoulders lifting in a shrug as she nibbled on a piece of parsley.

"Right." The chandelier swinging above their heads threw flecks of light all over the little round table, some gathering on Dimitri's steepled hands or disappearing into the spaces between his fingers. "And who are you going to see?"

Anya pursed her lips and tried to look coy. "The Queen of England?"

"Don't be cute," Dimitri warned, his hands condensing into balled fists on either side of his plate.

"Okay, okay. The _other_ old woman."

"Exactly."

"What exactly is your point? Other than being a _svoloch'_, I mean." Anya felt so satisfied she was giddy, giggling even as she winced when her stomach heaved. She'd eaten far too much, far too quickly. Still, the pie on the tray that was moving by in the hands of one of the servers made her mouth water all over again...

"My point is that you can't dine with the Dowager like you did just now," Dimitri scolded. "Do you see our plates?" Only half listening, Anya looked back at him as he gestured at the still artfully plated dishes on his side of the table, the trim gleaming gold in the light. Hers, on the other hand, looked like a murder scene. "We've barely eaten half, and we're two grown men. You wolfed down your first of _two_ plates in five minutes flat."

"I'm thinking I shouldn't have done that," Anya murmured. A riot of cramps flared up in her stomach and had her shifting in her seat for a more comfortable position.

"Actually, there are a lot of things you shouldn't be doing. Like having your elbows on the table, or sitting with your feet in your chair. Or belching like a drunk. Or licking your hands clean like a damn cat."

Shooting daggers at him, Anya slid her feet back to the carpet before giving her middle finger a long, slow lick up the side. "So I shouldn't be doing that, right?" she taunted. "Is that what you're saying?"

Dimitri looked uncomfortable for a split second before he laughed without any humor at all.

"I've never seen a girl with more class."

"Oh, Dimitri." Anya crossed her arms on the table and propped her chin on her forearm. Flashing him a smile more acidic than the lemon slice in her glass of water, she said, "Do you ever get dizzy way up there on your high horse?"

"Not usually. But I should probably watch my horse, shouldn't I? If I'm not careful, you just might _eat_ it."

Anya sat back on a gasp of outrage and straightened her spine as a disgusting, smug smile bloomed across Dimitri's face. She hadn't expected such a barbed retort. Honestly, she couldn't understand exactly why he was so irritable in the first place, but if he was in no mood for shenanigans, neither was she.

"If you want to do this right, you need our help," Dimitri said then, watching the silver and white geometric pattern of the tablecloth. He turned a fork over and over in his hand.

"I didn't ask for your help," she snapped. Sudden embarassment fired heat into in her cheeks, infuriating her even more. "Not with that."

"You did the minute you got on this train." He was cool, barely ruffled except for the smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth, and that only made her want to lunge across the table at him that much more.

When he flipped his eyes up to look at her they stared at each other, eyes on fire, neither of them even blinking as they engaged in a battle of wills.

Somewhere in the haze of her stomach pains and rage, Anya realized this was the first time she had actually looked at Dimitri and saw the man, not just the entity with some vague features that held her ticket to Paris. There were clean lines to his face, and the skin was perfectly smooth except for a silvery scar above his right eyebrow and the hitch in the bridge of his nose that she noticed in passing once before. She supposed that the strength of his jaw and general symmetry of his features might make him handsome to some women - but certainly not her. His brows were heavy, the same rusty brown as the hair that continually flopped into his face. They seemed to droop under their own weight over eyes that were the color of dead leaves. It was fitting. He didn't have to try very hard to look like he was brooding, which Anya had quickly surmised was his general state of being.

He put the fork down and his mouth relaxed, revealing the curvature of his lips. They were full and turned down slightly at the corners, straddling the line between sensual and menacing. An odd sensation took hold of Anya, a sort of pressure, like her lungs were being squeezed by some unseen hand. This time, it was she who looked away.

She heaved a theatrical sigh and threw her hands up. "Fine, Dimitri. Teach away. It's not like I have anything better to do at the moment."

An uneasy silence reigned for a long moment. Anya chewed her lip and glared at the white flecks in her fingernails. Vladimir pinched off another piece of his roll and chewed thoughtfully, watching Anya and Dimitri in silence, as usual.

"We do this my way," Dimitri finally said softly, his eyes bordering on apologetic, but not quite.

Seething, Anya crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not like I have much of a choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice." Dimitri had picked up the fork again, this time spinning it slowly on one of its tines.

"Well, I wish you would choose right this second to either shut your mouth or get on with it."

Something passed over his face and he seemed to relax his battle stance. "Fair enough."

Vladimir beckoned a uniformed waitress and as she came near, Anya noticed the corner of a wad of bills peeking out of his fist. The girl leaned down a bit and acknowledged him. Vladimir whispered something in her ear that made her blush and glance around nervously before he slipped the money into her hand. He looked at her backside appreciatively as she retreated before he turned to Anya. "The young lady is going to give us some privacy. Shall we begin?"

Dimitri acknowledged him with a nod, never taking his eyes away from Anya. Then he was all business. "First things first - sit up. And let me see how you were holding your fork? No, no...it's not a spear. Flip it over. No, left hand. Now, take your knife in your right. Yes, like that. That's how a Grand Duchess cuts her meat."

Anya bit her tongue and followed their instructions with clenched teeth. Dimitri and Vladimir took turns rambling on and on about everything, from what to do with her napkin to which utensils were used for which course of a meal. It went on like that for the next hour, long past Anya's usual threshold for sitting still. But she forced quiet down into her body, even succumbing to Vladimir's charm and becoming his puppet as he placed her hands wherever they needed to be in the course of the lesson. As long as he was in charge of her limbs, she wouldn't stab Dimitri in the eye with that fork and get them booted off the train.

The staff, having previously cleared the room of other diners, had just returned to begin to setting up for the next meal when Anya shot out of her chair in the middle of one of Dimitri's long-winded explanations.

Dimitri froze with the dessert fork he had been demonstrating with still in his hand. "Wait a minute, you haven't -

Anya was already turning away from the table, panic making her movements uncoordinated and jerky. Her meal was staging a revolt, rising up in violence as she scrambled for the nearest open receptacle.

She didn't make it.


	8. A Color Complex: Part 1

**Thanks to beta JustAGirl24 for her insight :)**

* * *

Dimitri let Vladimir clean Anya up. He couldn't handle it, not with the way he felt right now.

He snapped the collar of his coat up around his chin and shoved his way through the passage alongside the dining room, alone against the current of passengers headed for their respective compartments. No one else was crazy enough to go outside.

The nostalgia that had floated Dimitri from the palace to the train station had disappeared with the last glimpse of St. Petersburg's outskirts, immediately replaced by a rage that throbbed dully against the inside of his skin. There had been much in his life to be angry about, to be sure, but he had been born with an ability to channel copious amounts of negative energy into creative and unsavory ways to make money. That's what he did, who he was, how he coped with life. But something happened when all that he'd ever known disappeared from view and the end of all things there landed like a lead weight on his shoulders.

That rage, no longer checked by familiarity's cocoon, began to bloom in him like a truly hideous rose.

He slammed open the metal door that opened out onto the back of the train, barely hopping out of the way in time when the wind slammed it closed just as hard. The air whirled around his body, wild and frosty, whipping clouds of his breath away from his lips and strands of hair into his eyes. He had hoped that all of that freezing chaos would wick away some measure of the heat that was boiling his blood.

But at the moment he was thinking of Anya, so his hopes were completely dashed, for now.

At the time, he thought he had his eyes squeezed shut, but since he was able to replay the scene in his head with perfect clarity, he realized he had indeed watched in horror as she retched all over the silverware and wine glasses of the table next to theirs. She'd gone on and on until there was nothing left but air and tears dripped from the corners of her eyes. Humiliation rendered him immobile when she collapsed knee-first into a puddle of her own loose vomit on the carpet. Yet moments later he was still able to drop the dessert fork on the table and walk away.

As he wrapped his fingers around the rail and the iciness of the metal bit deep into his naked palms, he wondered if perhaps his feelings were misdirected. His anger - the majority of it, anyway - wasn't at Anya. Not exactly. She was his way out, but at the same time, she was his life's greatest challenge - and he was so far failing at it miserably.

She ate like a child, shoveling food into her mouth by the handful and only using her utensils as an afterthought. She picked her teeth with her ragged fingernails. She talked loudly. She scratched when she thought no one was looking, which was exactly when everyone was.

Dimitri crossed his arms on the rail and rested his cheek on his wrist, groaning into his coat sleeve. She was just... so fucking _common_.

Had he bitten off more than he could chew this time? Might he have overestimated his ability to get the job done? Maybe he could jump off this train right now and head back, explaining when the soldiers found him that he'd pay them double since he'd come up short this time around. Dimitri grimaced as he lifted his head, rubbing his chest where he imagined a bullet would pierce him. They'd only laugh right before they killed him.

He'd told Anya - God, just the thought of her _name_ made him want to strangle something - that you always had a choice. He liked to think his choices in life had always been easier than most: steal or starve to death, cheat or be beaten, lie or be shot.

Life was much easier in black and white. Anya was a decision, a means to an end - he could either mold her into something presentable or go home to die as poor as the day he was born.

For Dimitri, the answer was as clear as the misshapen icicles fringing the awning of the train. He reached up and snapped one off, then broke it in half and watched it melt until his hand felt as numb as he was inside.

He was feeling much calmer and more confident by the time he slid the door of their compartment closed behind him.

"Where did you go?" Vladimir looked up at him with furrowed brows.

"I needed some air." Dimitri started to move forward but stopped when his knee hit Vladimir's suitcase, the corner of which was blocking his path. He shouldered the load and hoisted it with a grunt over his head, onto the shelf high above the seat.

"Oh, I'm just fine, Dimitri," came Anya's voice to his ear, hoarse and steely with sarcasm. "I puke my guts up all the time. Thanks so much for your concern."

He didn't respond at first, instead clearing his throat and moving to sit down across from her, but a growl and a nip at his backside stopped him in his tracks. Her dog was curled into the corner of the seat, baring his tiny puppy teeth at the prospect of being sat upon.

Dimitri rolled his eyes. "I see the mutt gets the window seat."

He changed direction and sat down next to Anya, far enough away that he could duck in time if she returned to projectile vomiting.

Clay, he thought as he turned his head to regard her. You can't mold clay properly if you're rough with it.

"Are you all right?" He didn't really care, but he could at least sound like he was concerned. Besides, she was of no use to him half-dead.

Anya seemed to sense his indifference. "Too little, too late, Dimitri." She, too, was curled up in the corner, her head propped against the window and her face as pale as a bleached sheet. She was scowling at her necklace as she slid the pendant back and forth on its chain.

Sighing, Dimitri looked forward again. His thoughts were like insects in his head, darting around aimlessly, buzzing and stinging. He could teach her without her knowing, couldn't he? He and Vlad could be subtle. She didn't respond well to formal lessons. God, she was pale. He had precious little time to turn her into Anastasia. He had to make it work.

That one thought landed and bit hard: make it work.

"At least stop fiddling with that thing," he offered, trying to smile. "And sit up straight. Remember, you're a Grand Duchess. Despite your upset stomach."

She only pulled her knees even closer to her chest and ducked deeper into her coat, which was draped over her like a blanket. Her smile was humorless when she turned to him. "You just don't quit, do you? How do you know what Grand Duchesses do or don't do, anyway?"

He crossed his legs and inclined his head at her, grinning for real this time. She had no idea. "I make it my business to know."

The window drew her eyes away and left him staring at the back of her head. "Well, that's reassuring."

The rage went _thump_, _thump_, along with his heart, but Dimitri beat it back with a deep breath.

"Look, Anya, I'm just trying to help, all right?"

"Dimitri," Anya began, peering at him over her shoulder, her expression becoming wistful as she wrapped her necklace around her finger, "do you really think I'm royalty?"

"You know I do."

She suddenly pinned him with a glare. "Then stop bossing me around."

Exasperated, Dimitri collapsed back against the seat to the sound of Vladimir chuckling.

With his teeth flashing beneath his thick whiskers, he looked up from making the final flourishes on their traveling papers long enough to tell Dimitri, "She certainly has a mind of her own."

Dimitri pulled the lapels of his coat closer together against the draft sneaking in from one of the window's seams. Anya was formidable, he had to admit. Her insides had literally been on display and here she sat, as sassy as ever. Dimitri tried hard to fight the smile struggling to emerge.

"Yeah, I hate that in a woman." He caught her sticking her tongue out at him out of the corner of his eye.


	9. A Color Complex: Part 2

**Quick Russian vocabulary lesson (native speakers, please feel free to correct if inaccurate): _spasiba = _thank you; _zhopa = _asshole_; Nana = _Daddy_; osel = _ass. Just so you know. Also, thanks to beta JustAGirl24 for giving this a go. I just thought I might also add that I am a shameless review whore, so, yeah, you know what to do. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Anya, I can take Pooka out now, if you'd like."

Anya nodded and smiled sweetly at Vladimir as he scooped up the dog, reaching out to place her hand on his arm with a quiet "_spasiba_". He winked and chucked her under the chin before he stepped out.

"What was that all about?" Dimitri asked, astounded by the easy sweetness of their exchange. Vladimir had looked at her like his own child. He'd never seen that particular sparkle in his comrade's eyes before, and it was unsettling.

The calm drained out of Anya's face and then she was glaring at him again.

"What was what?"

Dimitri waved his hand in the space between them and the door. "That. With Vlad. You two act like you're old friends."

"He's nice," she said simply.

"Nice," Dimitri harrumphed. "Well, for future reference, I do business. I don't do nice."

She snorted. "Obviously." Glancing from his face back to her necklace, she explained, "The man cleaned me up like a little girl and gave me a clean shirt to wear while he had one of the women in the back clean my dress." Her lips turned up in a little smile. "I think I even got some on his shoes and he didn't say anything." She slipped the pendant into her mouth and nibbled on it, apparently thinking. "He's nice the same way you're a _zhopa_: it's just who you are."

Dimitri winced at a sharp pain in both of his hands. He looked down at his white knuckles in alarm, then realized he was digging his fingernails into the flesh of his palms. He sighed. Clay, he reminded himself.

"What was the last thing you ate?"

She rolled her eyes. "I think you saw it come and go."

"Before this morning." He held her gaze. "Obviously," he added, because he couldn't help sneering.

Anya bit her lip and squinted up at the swirls in the plastered ceiling. "I don't know. A piece of bread I sto - ah, _bought_, I think. And some water out of somebody's well."

"How long ago?"

"Three days." Her body tensed and she shifted away from him. "Before today, I don't think I can even remember eating real food," she murmured.

Dimitri swallowed hard. With his body accustomed to surviving on scraps, he'd vomited the first time Vladimir had fed him a real meal, too. He didn't know why he didn't try to save Anya from the same fate. Perhaps he was too busy resenting the fact that she was his only hope, and yet she was making him work so hard.

"Soup," he told her.

She turned back with a frown. "What?"

"Your body isn't used to such rich food, so it rejected it. You get soup for the next few meals, until you can handle more."

A smile seemed to sneak up on her, but she looked down at her shoes instead of offering it to him. It was gone as if it never was by the time her eyes returned to his. All that blue was arresting against her ghost-like complexion, like two huge sapphires side by side in the snow. "Well, thank you, _N__ana_."

He surprised himself by almost laughing at her tart remark, but noticed that the moment seemed to have softened around the edges. He moved to sit across from her on the opposite seat. Leaning over to balance his elbows on his knees, he said, "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"Well, I think we did, too."

"Okay."

Anya blew gently on the window, then wrote something with her finger in the fog her breath created on the cold glass. "But I appreciate your apology," she said, without looking at him.

Dimitri sat back and raised an eyebrow. Apologizing he was not. "Wait - who said anything about an apology? I was just saying that we - "

"Look, just don't talk anymore, okay? It's only gonna upset me."

Dimitri's other eyebrow joined the one already at his hairline. With that lordly look on her face, he could almost picture her on some fetid throne, as queen of all slums. "Fine, I'll be quiet. I'll be quiet if _you_ will."

"Alright, I'll be quiet." She made a show of pressing her lips together.

Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine."

"Fine," she said again, unfurling her legs and plunking her feet down on the seat, right next to his thigh. Little flakes of mud landed on the corner of his coat.

With an exaggerated motion, he brushed them off. "Fine."

"Fine." She was a picture of nonchalance.

There was silence for all of a handful of heartbeats when Anya brushed her hair out of her eyes and said, "Do you think you're gonna miss it?"

"Miss what, your talking?" Dimitri shot back.

"_No_," Anya chided. She gestured vaguely at the window. "Russia."

That question he had not expected.

He looked down at his hands and began lazily pushing back his cuticles with his thumbnail. "Nope." There was nothing to go back to.

"But it was your home," she was saying. She'd put her feet back on the floor and now leaned forward, staring at him with renewed interest, like he'd suddenly sprouted from the upholstery.

He was not about to discuss himself with her. The less she knew, the better. Especially for him. "It was a place I once lived. End of story."

Anya was unphased. Dimitri noticed the flush returning to her cheeks, making her look less like a living corpse. "Then you must plan on making Paris your true home." She sat completely still on the edge of the seat, waiting for some affirmation, as if what she had just reasoned made perfect sense.

Dimitri threw his hands up, annoyed and confused by the turn in their conversation. "What _is_ it with you and 'homes'?" he demanded, taking a turn at propping his legs in the seat across from him.

She looked indignant when she rose and tried to walk out, and he gave her a satisfied smile when she kept running into his legs. "It's something every _normal_ person wants, Dimitri. But I'm guessing you don't do normal like you don't do nice - move your goddamn legs!" she flared at him.

Dimitri, deciding to annoy her further by refusing to cower, merely yawned. "Well, seeing as we've established I'm neither normal nor nice, it looks like you'll be going around, don't you think?"

Anya roared in frustration as she got up on the seat and walked on the cushions to the other side of Dimitri's legs before turning to point a finger at his face. "Honestly, I would really like to put your _head_" - she moved her finger slowly so his eyes would follow - "through _that_ window."

Refusing to back down, Dimitri stood up as well and pointed at her backside. "Then your _osel_ won't be going to Paris, will it?"

Anya crossed her arms over her chest, looking much like a bull on the edge of raging. "Is that right? Well, I - you...me and my _osel_ should have gone to the fishing village anyway!" she sputtered.

"Well, me and mine wish you would have!"

"What in God's name is going on in here?" Vladimir asked as came in, the dog whining and licking at his ear. "I can hear the both of you on the other side of the train - "

"Oh, thank goodness it's you," Anya cried, still wielding that blasted finger of hers. "Just - please, remove him from my sight!"

"Dimitri," Vladimir laughed, "what have you done to her?"

"_Me?" _The feeling that he was defendant on trial did nothing but fan Dimitri's flames. "Why are you taking her side? You weren't even here! It's her!"

"Ha!" Anya gave him the finger just before she stormed out, banging the door shut so hard it rattled inside its rail.

Dimitri whipped around, his heart racing, that same insistent rage rapping at his temples. Just get her to Paris and get the money, then you can kill her, he thought.

When he turned back around, Vladimir was doubled over, his laughter bouncing off the wood panels that enclosed them.

Dimitri was not amused. "What the hell are you laughing at? How are we supposed to deal with" - he pointed in the direction Anya left with disgust - "_that_?"

"Oh, Dimitri," Vladimir sighed as he straightened, tucking Anya's stupid dog more securely under his arm. "Such unspoken attraction..."

"_Attraction_?" Dimitri repeated, aghast. "To that skinny little brat? Have you lost your mind?"

"Perhaps I was mistaken," Vladimir said to the mutt, then winked at Dimitri.

Instead of hitting his friend over the head with a suitcase like he wanted to, Dimitri reached past the dog and into the chest pocket inside of Vladimir's coat, fishing out the prized gold flask Vladimir always kept on his person. Dimitri held it up for him to see. "Just for that, you're not getting this back," he proclaimed before brushing past Vladimir's belly and out the door himself, making for the back of the train again. Vladimir's laughter when their failsafe plan was already coming apart at the seams was more than he could bear at the moment. Attraction? That was absolutely ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing he'd heard in his entire life, in fact.

An image of Anya's eyes flashed through his mind just then, darkened to navy blue flame when she was angry.

It really _was_ ridiculous.

Jesus, he needed a drink.


	10. Hell in the Meantime

_A/N: Hi guys, back again! Next three chapters are up. Thanks so much for your patience and support! _

"Godammit," Anya cursed under her breath, violently pacing the hallway of the lavatory at the back of the train car. She was so mad at Dimitri she was actually sweating, and if whoever was taking forever on the toilet didn't emerge soon she was going to kick down the door.

After her second trip around the entire train, she'd successfully pushed all thoughts of Dimitri out of her mind and had regained some semblance of calm. She could feel her anger begin to ratchet down during the fourth revolution - that is, until she'd stumbled into one of the other passenger cars. A man seated in the front row had glanced up at her, his muddy brown eyes so similar to Dimitri's that they flooded her mind with images of his smug face and set her off again.

"Hey! If you fell in you should say something!" She started banging on the door with the side of her fist, hard enough to bruise the flesh. Anya received a small amount of relief from her pent-up frustration in the form of pain, but it still wasn't enough - not nearly as satisfying as giving Dimitri a black eye would be.

The door suddenly swung open and Anya nearly fell into the hefty woman who filled up the narrow doorway.

Clearly outraged, the older woman planted her hands on ample hips concealed by lush fur coat and huffed, "I beg your pardon!" She pursed her thin lips and raised an eyebrow as she looked down her nose at Anya, a difficult task as Anya was at least three inches taller.

Anya grunted in frustration when the woman made no effort to step aside, evidently waiting for an apology that Anya was certainly not going to supply. She was not in the mood for this. Besides, she'd seen this uppercrust society type breeze into the orphanage with the false hope of family often enough. They'd glance over Anya and her comrades, then turn up their noses in disgust at the children's wretchedness before they turned away, leaving disappointment in their wake.

"You can beg all you want as long as you get out of my way," Anya snapped, already straining to push past the woman's bulk to get into the stall. The woman grudgingly let her by before Anya slammed the door on her and turned the lock.

She stopped and closed her eyes, her hand still clutching the handle, and exhaled in relief.

Finally.

It had been a long time now since she had been able to completely shut out the world. The chaos on the other side of the door had become louder than her own thoughts, so much so that the silence that enveloped her now felt like an oasis.

Slowly, she turned and relaxed against the door, allowing the train to gently rock her body to the rhythm of its grinding gears and her own heartbeat. She inhaled deeply, instantly regretting it when the tanginess of dried urine in the air settled on the back of her tongue and made her cough.

Trouble had followed her like a shadow as a child at the orphanage. Anya, who never felt like she belonged, spent most of her time making mischief to combat the feelings of isolation. This made her very popular with the other children and an enemy of the order-craving Comrade Phlegmenkoff.

Whenever the old woman was on a rampage, Anya would quickly make her way into her secret place and hide there until things blew over. It was actually only a crawlspace beneath the stairs, but her imagination made it a palatial cavern - dark and warm and the only place she could ever be completely alone. It had been her favorite place, and it was only there that she could carefully gather enough hope to fortify her against whatever hell came next.

Right now, the toilet was as close to that as Anya was going to get.

She reached up and roughly massaged her scalp, as if she could squeeze some rationality back into her brain.

Dimitri was proving to be a serious problem. She still didn't trust him at all, but that was beside the point. If she didn't figure out some way to deal with him, she was most likely going to end up being hauled off to jail somewhere for murder. Although she'd known some questionable people, Anya hadn't encountered his type before - mouthy, overconfident, and just pompous enough to infuriate her with the slightest gesture. Not knowing what to expect from him rattled her self-assurance. She knew virtually nothing about him, but he was inexplicably aware of her all buttons - even when to press them and just how hard to do so.

And though the thought nearly made her queasy, she knew she couldn't get to Paris without him, and there was no going back to St. Petersberg. Not now. That realization instantly burned through her anger.

She noticed her heartbeat had normalized enough for rational behavior, so she took one more deep breath before she stepped outside.

After strolling down the hallway into the next car, she eventually arrived at the scene of her earlier crime.

The dining car had just finished serving the evening meal. Servants were scurrying from one table to the next, filling the air with the clinking of dirty dishes as she walked in. A few well-dressed gentlemen were crowding the small bar set apart from the dining booths, sipping wine as they chatted and blew lazy clouds of cigar smoke. Anya wished like hell that she could afford to buy herself a drink. Since that was out of the question, she figured she'd just sit at the bar and be satisfied with inhaling the boozy fumes.

A man in a coat the same color as his glass of wine grinned at her as she plopped down next to him on the only available stool. Even though she could feel his eyes on her, she kept her own on all the bottles of liquor lined up along the wall.

He must have sensed her disinterest, as he stood a few moments later and disappeared from her side. Anya noticed that he'd left a full glass on the bar and looked over to make sure he was gone for good, just in time to meet Dimitri's surprised expression. He was seated on the other side of the now-empty stool, looking as unhappy to see her as she was to see him.

"Shit," Anya hissed, moving to stand.

"My sentiments exactly. But please, Your Highness, don't leave on my account," Dimitri sneered.

"Why wouldn't I? I'm avoiding you," Anya spat, crossing her arms over her chest. "How did you end up in here anyway? You a drunk as well as a bastard?"

He turned back to the bar, a smile flirting with his lips as he took his half-full glass into his hands and ran his thumbs through the condensation. "A drunk, no. A bastard...maybe. In any case, you drove me to drink."

Same here, Anya thought, even as she glowered at him.

Dimitri looked up at her again, apparently noticing that she was still half-standing, one thigh lingering on the stool.

"That position looks uncomfortable," he observed with a smirk.

Anya groaned and stood up in earnest, ready to walk out.

"Hey - hold on," Dimitri said, reaching over and catching her coat sleeve to keep her from walking off. "Look, just sit down. We need to talk anyway."

He let go of her and Anya obliged him, if only from emotional exhaustion. She sank down on the empty stool between them. "I really don't have anything else to say to you - "

"Well, I do," Dimitri cut in. "So feel free to just sit there and listen."

Anya propped her chin in her hand and didn't answer. She started chewing on her lip and drumming her fingers on the bar, looking everywhere but at him.

He took a deep breath, then said, "We still have a long way to go to get to France, and we're never gonna make it if we go on like this. I'll end up strangling you or you'll try to stab me in my sleep, or something."

When he paused for a long moment, Anya wondered if he was waiting for some kind of reaction. Surely he didn't expect her to laugh - the stabbing part was pretty accurate, considering how he made her feel most of the time. His waiting was confirmed as the moment stretched on, so she took advantage of having the upper hand for the time being and continued to ignore him.

There was a hint of amusement in his voice when he finally went on. "Anyway...I'm proposing a truce."

Anya grunted and swiveled in the seat to cut her eyes at him. "Please...that means you'd have to keep your mouth shut, and honestly, I don't think you have it in you."

Dimitri only winked at her and shot back, "I could say the same for you, Princess."

There it was again, the same hot flush of anger that flooded her body during their last conversation. This time, Anya closed her eyes, leaned back and grasped desperately for thoughts of anything that made her happy - puppies, rain, the scent of peppermint. When she finally opened her eyes again, she was calm. And exhausted.

Resigned, she sat up and focused again on Dimitri, who was staring at her like she'd grown a second head. She was tired of fighting with him. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner somewhere and go to sleep.

"Ok, Dimitri," she said, not bothering to stifle her yawn. "What exactly is involved in this so-called truce?"

Dimitri raised an eyebrow."That's it? Really? I don't need battle plans to get you to agree?"

Anya crossed her legs and smiled evilly. "Don't press your luck."

"Right." Dimitri sat back, stroking his chin and looking thoughtful. "I think we should keep it simple. Like school children. Nothing more binding than a schoolyard truce, right?"

Anya shrugged. "Fine."

"Well," Dimitri continued with an impish gleam in his eye, "speaking of children, I was thinking somewhere along the lines of you being seen and not heard..."

Anya threw him a dirty look. "I think you'd better try that again."

"Okay, fine," he conceded with a laugh. He tapped a finger on his pursed lips, considering. "How about this, then: 'if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all'?"

So Anya hadn't imagined it - Dimitri was definitely teasing her. Even though that knowledge made her want to push him off his stool, it was becoming difficult not to find the conversation they were having a little amusing. Anya cleared her throat to keep a straight face and took the bait he was offering. "Okay. I can live with that if you can."

"Works for me." Dimitri stuck out his hand and flashed a smile at her that was equal parts sweet and devilish. Anya was apalled at the momentary fluttering she felt in the pit of her stomach before she chased away the feeling with a scowl. She would bet money that that grin alone had gotten him many things from many women over the years.

Still, she didn't plan on giving Dimitri anything but a hard time. He was still an asshole.

"Well?" he prompted when she didn't respond, eyes shining with mirth, as if he too was danger of laughing out loud. "An agreement of this magnitude certainly warrants a handshake."

Biting back a smile, Anya reached out and placed her hand in his.

She'd removed her gloves for the first time since they met only a few hours ago. The instant her naked skin made initial contact with the warmth of Dimitri's she gasped, and all the humor of the situation evaporated.

She suddenly felt blanketed by heat, similar to the sensation that swept over her when she was angry with him. But this was somehow entirely different. It was thicker, heavy enough to drop her lids to half mast; it was more centralized, seemingly emanating from the core of her body and radiating outward in delicious, frightening waves. Every inch of her skin felt prickly and hot and that strange pressure in her chest returned in full force, almost making her feel like she was drowning.

His palm was surprisingly smooth and much softer than she'd expected. She'd always thought her hands were too big for a girl's, but his made hers feel tiny and perfectly feminine. When she looked down, she saw that his entire hand had enveloped hers, his slender fingers nearly reaching her wrist. They were long and tapered, like a master musician's, and Anya suddenly wondered with startling enthusiasm what it would feel like to have hands like that gliding over her heated skin, disappearing into places no one had ever seen -

Without thinking, she snatched her hand back and slapped it onto her forehead, a troublesome reaction to extreme stress she'd developed as a child. The headache that ensued quickly smothered that horrible thought.

"Hey."

Still wincing, Anya glanced up at Dimitri. His smile had also disappeared. He looked as tense and disturbed as she felt.

He said rather gravely, "In the spirit of our truce, I think you should have this." He slid his drink down the bar into Anya's hands.

"What is this, anyway?" Anya asked as she nervously cleared her throat, leaning down to sniff at the dark liquid.

"Bourbon," Dimitri said. "You look like you need that more than I do."

And oh, she did, but even as Anya tossed that entire drink down her throat like she'd die without it and felt its fire put out her own internal flames, she was not about to allow Dimitri the last word. That just wasn't her style.

She slammed the glass down on the counter and licked her burning lips before gracefully sliding off the bar stool.

"Thanks for that," she said brightly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to catch up on my beauty sleep."

She began to saunter past him before she stopped and turned again, quick enough to catch Dimitri with his mouth open, no doubt in the process of arming himself with a smart remark at her expense.

"I almost forgot," she laughed, watching Dimitri's eyebrows dip low over his eyes in confusion.

"Remember how my ass was the subject of our earlier conversation?" she asked him with all the sweetness of vinegar. "I'll make sure I sleep with that end up so you'll remember to kiss it."


	11. Leap of Faith

Anya was snoring.

Seated across from her, Dimitri squirmed and shifted against the overstuffed seat for the thousandth time, more uncomfortable than he could ever remember being despite the plushness of their train compartment.

It wasn't that Anya was loud - quite the opposite, in fact. She sounded like she was purring, with a soft whistle at the end of every other breath or so. Dimitri suspected that had she been anyone else, he would have merely folded his hands in his lap and dozed off as well. But she was Anya, and in the hour since he'd returned from the bar he'd gone from feeling mildly irritated to considering the merits of peeling off his own fingernails. Her presence alone was affecting Dimitri's focus, clouding his thoughts, making him less than blade-sharp and susceptible to mistakes. And that was very, very dangerous.

Grunting, he crossed his legs and uncrossed them, shifted once more so that he could prop himself against the wall, then loudly rustled the papers in his lap. His watch seemed to tick louder and louder. His heart beat just a little too fast.

This was completely unlike him. The tunnel vision he'd developed over the years had proven time and again to be the greatest asset to his survival. Vladimir had made sure of that since the day they met, drilling into Dimitri the dangers of distraction when it came to the con. Losing your focus was the same as losing your will to live. That knowledge had been embedded in Dimitri's mind for many years now, like part of his DNA.

Still, after passing a hand over his eyes, Dimitri opened them and found himself looking at Anya again.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He'd chuckled to himself for a while at the bar after she'd delivered her parting shot. Such a little spitfire, that mouth so much bigger than the rest of her. Especially her hands.

His eyes fell to his own hands as he made a fist with the one that had clutched hers. He could still feel the coolness of her skin against his palm, the knob of her little wrist against his fingertips. She had the softness of stone whenever they exchanged words, but in his hand she felt delicate, as fragile as an empty shell.

Dimitri sighed hard and angrily brushed the hair out of his eyes. Thoughts like that were getting him nowhere. He reached behind him to knead the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

Trying to refocus, he dragged his attention back to proofing the travel documents that would get them across the border. He pored over the stolen original he'd lifted off a drunk in a bar in St. Petersberg, making sure that Vladimir's copies were absolute duplicates. They were; his partner was a magician with a pen, but this whole situation had Dimitri antsy enough to keeping checking until his head hurt.

Then Vladimir's earlier comment about Dimitri, Anya and their so-called "unspoken attraction" drifted back to him.

Bullshit, he thought viciously, even as an unconscious Anya drew his eyes like some magnetic force.

He finally gave up and put the papers down, figuring if he just let himself look and get it over with, he could concentrate.

She'd smushed her face into her coat, which was wadded up beneath her cheek as a makeshift pillow. She was curled into a protective ball on the seat, head bowed and knees drawn up close to her chin. With her face so relaxed, she looked impossibly childlike and vulnerable, a severe contrast to when she was awake and raving. Dimitri was alarmed to find that he almost missed her eyes blazing at him -

"Dimitri, we have a - "

He jumped up like he'd been shot as Vladimir stepped inside the compartment, startled and embarrassed to have been caught in the act.

Vladimir broke off, frowning as he looked back and forth between Dimitri and Anya's sleeping form. "Why are you so red?"

Clearing his throat, Dimitri waved him off, quickly changing the subject as he sat back down. "Keep your voice down, alright? This is the most peace I've had in hours, so please don't wake the she-devil."

A chill passed through Dimitri's body then that had nothing to do with the cool air Vladimir had just let in from the hallway, intensifying when Dimitri noticed his grave expression.

Dimitri knew that look. It was the same one Vladimir had worn when Dimitri was thirteen years old and his first con had gone terribly wrong. It had been frozen on the older man's face as he wiped away Dimitri's tears and blood with his own shirt and stitched up the knife wound in Dimitri's side.

"What happened?"

Vladimir's shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh before he said, "This is what I hate about this government." He lifted up his copy of the forged travel documents for Dimitri to see. "Everything is in red."

It was like Dimitri's blood had suddenly turned to sleet. He gaped at Vladimir. "Red?"

Panic was already sucking Dimitri's thoughts into a downward spiral.

The ink on the original was blue. The forgeries had been copied in blue. Blue like the Parisian sky, like a Romanov's eyes, like the color of the bruises the guards would give him -

"I propose we move to the baggage car, and quickly. Before the guards come." Vladimir was already snatching down their things from the upper shelf.

"I propose we get off this train!" The same panic that had him momentarily frozen suddenly reanimated Dimitri. He turned and began stuffing the papers into one of the train cases that were stacked next to him on the seat, unconsciously shaking his head as he moved.

He should have known this would happen; it had been far too easy thus far. The universe was plotting against him like he'd thought.

"Vlad," he grumbled as he slammed the case shut and clasped it closed, "I told you we needed to make sure the papers were up to date -"

" - They were, Dimitri, they must have changed them this month - "

" - Chyort voz'mi!"

Vladimir paused at Dimitri's crude outburst and glared at him. "This is not helping. The guards are only two compartments away." He glanced at Anya, unstirred by all the commotion, and ordered, "Wake her and move. Now." Then he and his armload of suitcases were gone.

Anya's lips had parted and she'd uncurled a little, but other than those hints of life, she was still dead to the world. Dimitri groaned, knowing he'd never hear the end of this.

"Hey." He reached out and shook her knee. "Wake up, we gotta go."

After she didn't respond, he began to shake her harder when her hand flew up. The pain that exploded in his nose made him howl and stagger backward against the opposite seat.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

"Oh, God, I'm sorry! - oh, it's you. Well, that's ok, then." Hands still clamped over his throbbing nose, Dimitri watched Anya through the spaces between his fingers as she sat up and stretched leisurely.

"I think you broke my nose!" he accused, his voice muffled by his hands.

"I did not. Don't be such a baby. Just be glad I wasn't trying to break it," she scoffed as she rubbed the back of her neck.

With his eyes still watering, Dimitri hopped up and grabbed her hand, ignoring the tingling in his palm the moment he touched her.

"We need to go. Right now," he demanded as he pulled her outside and began dragging her down the hallway.

"Wait, where are we going? What's going on?"

She started to struggle, so Dimitri grit his teeth and tightened his grip on her hand. "Come on!"

"Wait - Pooka!" She jerked her arm free and turned to run back to the compartment, disappearing inside just as a pair of guards emerged from the compartment next door.

Dimitri froze. She was going to be caught. He was going to be caught.

Seconds later and dog in hand, Anya was face to face with them in the doorway.

From this distance, Dimitri couldn't make out exactly what was said, but he saw Anya make a show of searching her pockets. The guards, their faces as stiff as their uniforms, didn't seem to be buying it.

Shit -

Anya suddenly ducked between them and broke away. She was now running toward Dimitri, the dog tucked under her arm and yelping, her eyes wild. The surprised guards recovered quickly and gave pursuit.

"Run, you idiot!"

Dimitri snapped out of his stupor and took off like the train was on fire.

He could see Vladimir's head bobbing up and down in the round window of the baggage car door just ahead as he made for their exit, shoving startled passengers out of their way with as many apologies as he could manage. The door slid open just as he and Anya approached and Vladimir slammed it shut once they were safely inside.

They didn't have time to catch their breath. The guards arrived a moment later, pounding on the metal and yelling for them to come out or be removed by force. The lock on the door hung broken and useless from the handle, so Vladimir grabbed a large train case from the luggage pile and forced it against the door to keep it closed.

When he was done, all three of them just looked at each other until Anya asked Dimitri, "Any bright ideas?"

Just one.

He scanned the inside of dark car until he found what he was looking for - a thin strip of light right above the floor the right side of the long metal container, near the middle. That light was daylight, and that door was their way out.

He grabbed Anya's arm and the three of them made their way to the other end of the baggage car, banging knees and elbows and ankles as they stumbled through all the luggage.

"Hey, Vlad, give me a hand with this."

Vladimir helped him wrench open the side door that had rusted into place. Vladimir pushed while Dimitri pulled on the handle, and when it gave the force of the tremendous gust that rushed in knocked all three of them on their backs.

Even though the wind was nearly as loud as the train itself, Dimitri could still hear the disbelief in Anya's voice.

"You're kidding, right?" she yelled as she pushed off the garment bag that had tumbled on top of her.

"Stop where you are!"

Dimitri spun around. The original angry guards and their newly arrived reinforcements had been able to push open the door and were tumbling in, moving fast enough to catch them if they didn't move quickly.

Dimitri's thoughts instantly morphed into a chorus of curses.

"Vlad, are you alright?" he yelled. Adrenaline was keeping him hot in the face of the freezing wind, pushing him to action. The guards were still hollering and closing in fast.

"Fine!" Vladimir was standing right on the edge of the doorway with some of their bags. The train had just sped over a bridge and was now coursing through another patch of forest. They were going so fast all Dimitri could make out was a blur of white, green and brown.

Vladimir looked over his shoulder in Dimitri's direction, the waning daylight just enough for Dimitri to make out his face. "Snowbank!" he said simply, and that was all Dimitri needed to hear.

"If you think I'm going to jump out of a moving train, you're out of your mind!"

When Dimitri looked at her, Anya was already backing away, toward the guards. He realized then she was going to let herself be taken.

Not on his watch.

In that eerie way of hers she must have sensed his resolution because she started to backpedal faster, but not fast enough. He grabbed her wrist and swung her back toward the open door.

"You're not jumping!" he roared in her ear before he shoved her forward as hard as he could.

The last thing he heard was her scream before he grabbed his bag and took a running leap into thin air. 


	12. Rumors of War

Anya's scream was aborted as the air exploded from her lungs on impact.

Her right shoulder took the brunt of the force as she tucked her body into a ball and tumbled haphazardly down an incline. Anya squeezed her eyes shut, vertigo triggering wave upon wave of nausea before she came to a merciful stop face-down at the tree line.

She couldn't move, her arms and legs splayed at odd angles and chunks of packed snow bruised her face like rocks. Ice had crammed into her mouth and coat during her violent tumble and had melted on contact, numbing her to the bone.

She could be paralyzed.

Terror seized her, stopping her breath altogether until she began shivering so hard her teeth chattered. She went limp with relief.

Sucking in a deep breath, she quickly performed an assessment for damage, first wiggling her fingers and toes, then gingerly bending her arms and legs. She was stiff, but there were no sprains, no broken bones. She rolled over with a groan and came face to face with a pine tree, its snow-laden branches sagging low enough for the thin leaves to brush her cheeks.

She slapped the branch away and struggled to her feet against the throbbing pain in her shoulder.

"I hate trains. Remind me _never_ to get on a train again."

Red washed across her thoughts as she registered the distant voice, diluting the pain. She stumbled blindly toward the source, her hand unconsciously clutching her shoulder, snow crunching angrily beneath the punishing tread of her boots.

Dimitri was standing several yards away, grinning as he helped pull Vladimir to a stand.

"Hey, Vlad, where's the train case - WHOA!"

Unfortunately for Anya, Dimitri reacted more quickly than she would have liked, jerking out of the way so that her knuckles barely grazed his nose when she swung at him. The reflex threw him off balance and he tumbled backwards to land on his backside, just as bear-like arms grabbed Anya around her midsection and gently swung her away from him.

Vladimir was speaking calmly to her now, squeezing her shoulders with his meaty hands and gently forcing her to walk back the way she'd come, away from Dimitri. She barely noticed him, rage making everything hazy, like she was watching the scene through red-tinted fog.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dimitri yelled as he jumped up, pants wet in patches from melted snow, his face pinched in confusion and anger.

"Are you kidding? What's wrong with *me*?" she hollered back at him, incredulous, trying to push past the wall that was Vladimir to get at Dimitri. "You called a truce and then you pushed me out of a goddamn _train!_"

"So?" Now it was Dimitri who was advancing, chest heaving and steam bursting from his nostrils. He swiped his hair out of his eyes and barked, "You're not locked up and you're alive, aren't you? I saved your ass!"

Anya could only gape at him in disgust, her hands on her hips. Her breath came faster and faster, her lungs and throat burning with every inhale of freezing air. "Let me get this right: you conduct some back-alley shit with our tickets that almost gets us thrown off the train...and I'm supposed to be _grateful_?"

"You better!" Dimitri shot back. "We're the only reason you could get on a train at all, and if it wasn't for you going back to get that stupid dog, we wouldn't be in this situation!"

The smug look on his face pushed Anya over the edge completely.

"God, I _hate_ you!" she screeched, but Vladimir was ready for her when she lunged at Dimitri this time. With a long-suffering groan, he picked her up and deposited her wriggling form next to a rotting log several feet away.

"You stay here," he said simply, his voice demanding obedience, its gruffness a stark contrast to the gentle hands he placed on her shoulders.

"But I - he -" Anya protested, far too upset to be intelligible.

"Yes." Vladimir gave her a small, knowing smile. "I will talk to him."

"Don't bother!" Anya roughly shrugged him off and stepped away, so livid now that she was shaking. Aside from the fact that Dimitri had callously shoved her out of a train with no thought for her safety, knowing that Paris and its possibilities had slipped through her fingers again was almost more than she could bear. Eyes burning, she stubbornly swallowed back the tears that threatened the corners of her eyes. "I'm not dealing with him anymore! You two do whatever the hell you want; I'm done!"

Vladimir started to object, but Anya only threw up her hands. She meant what she'd said. She was done with this entire situation.

When Vladimir reached for her hand, she brushed him off and turned her focus to looking for Pooka. The poor thing was probably terrified; she'd lost her grip on him in when she'd hit the ground and there was no telling how far he'd been thrown.

"Pooka! _Pooka!_"

A happy bark sounded from somewhere within the treeline behind her, and she spun around to see Pooka running toward her feet. Smiling as she scooped him up, Anya held him close as the snowflakes that were caught in his mottled fur melted on her cheeks.

She could hear Vladimir trying to talk Dimitri down from his tantrum, but Anya couldn't care less about what was being said. Her focus was on the train tracks that disappeared around a curve a few miles ahead.

"Hey!" Dimitri called after her as she turned to follow the tracks, "where do you think you're going?"

Anya only pulled her coat lapels in tighter around she and Pooka and walked faster.

"Anya!"

"Kiss my ass, Dimitri!" she yelled over her shoulder, still refusing to look back.

After a moment Anya could hear quick footsteps behind her. Dimitri ran up beside her and then moved to stand in her path. Ignoring him, Anya side-stepped to move around him.

"I'm sorry, do you have some grand plan here you'd like to let us in on?" he taunted, trying to get a rise out of her.

It was working. But still, Anya bristled but didn't respond.

Dimitri kept at her, first dogging her steps, then stepping in front of her every time she would brush past him. "What are you going to do without money? What happens when the train track forks and you don't have a map?"

"I'll figure it out!"

"Please, Anya, you'll never make it without us and you know it!"

The sting of the simple truth of that statement, and nothing else, made Anya stop. It didn't really matter how callous or how infuriating Dimitri was, or how much she hated him. That was the truth of her situation. She could keep recognizing it, then refusing to believe it, but it didn't change things. If she had any small reason to believe that it was possible to make it across the continent on her own, she would have kept walking until she couldn't anymore. But she was here, in the middle of nowhere, no food, no map, with only what could hardly be called a coat on her back for warmth. She could die out here.

So what now? As far as she was concerned, the little enterprise with Vladimir and Dimitri was done. But Dimitri still had two things she needed to make it alone. She'd simply find a way to relieve him of both.

When Anya finally turned around, Dimitri was still standing there, his arms crossed, a wry smile on his lips. "Have we finally come to our senses?"

"How much money do you have exactly?" Anya asked bluntly, her face carefully blank.

Dimitri seemed thrown by the abrupt question and instantly narrowed his eyes. "Enough. Nothing to concern yourself with." His gaze grew penetrative and suspicious.

Rethinking things, Anya decided that she was above petty thievery and abandoned the plan to rob Dimitri and Vladimir and leave them destitute in the wilderness. But she was not above snatching the map. They seemed to be well-traveled men; they'd find their way. However, this was Anya's maiden voyage. "Where's the map, then?"

"In the suitcase." Dimitri seemed tense. His shoulders were drawn up but Anya knew is was from more than just the cold.

"Well? Can I see it? Don't I deserve that much after you tried to kill me?" She hoped she looked innocent enough.

Dimitri seemed to mull it over before deciding that the request was as benign as Anya had intended for him to believe.

"I guess it can't hurt." He began walking back to where Vladimir stood with the suitcases and Anya followed him.

Anya immediately noticed the tension in the usually relaxed Vladimir as they approached.

"God, Vlad, what's wrong now?" Dimitri must have noticed as well.

"That," Vladimir said tightly, gesturing at the ground, "is not your suitcase."

And Dimitri went so pale, so quickly, that Anya thought he was literally going to pass out right where he stood. She thought she heard him praying as he dropped to his knees and ripped open the black case, releasing a profusion of silk and lace in black, beige and white. A woman's underthings.

If Dimitri hadn't looked so devastated Anya probably would have laughed out loud.

Though she already knew the answer, she couldn't stop herself asking pointedly, "So, Dimitri, where's the map?"

When he only mumbled something under his breath, Anya prodded him further. "I'm sorry, what did you say? I couldn't hear you over just 'how much I need you'."

"It's on the train," he snapped at her. He stood then, slapping snow off his knees.

"And the money?" Vladimir's voice was strained and slightly higher than usual.

Dimitri briefly hung his head before looking out in the distance, back toward St. Petersburg, no doubt wishing he had never left. "There's 80 _rubles_ in my coat pocket. The rest I left in the case for safekeeping."

So it seemed that Dimitri did not have everything under control after all, and it took everything in Anya's being not to gloat like a schoolyard bully. In the end, she couldn't help herself. She was downright giddy.

"Well," she said, shifting Pooka to her other arm and taking a seat on one of the suitcases, "since we are all in the same pickle, I guess I'll stick around for a while longer." She smiled brightly at Dimitri. "At least with you two around the wolves will have something to snack on before they get to me."


	13. Cold Shoulder

**_A/N: Thanks to all my readers for your infinite patience! I don't take it lightly, believe me. A special thanks as well to everyone who left a review - you guys are amazing, the fuel that keeps me at this when life makes me want to quit. Thanks so much for all the luv!_**

"Dimitri," Vladimir commented, his voice reasonable even as the corners of his eyes crinkled with supressed amusement, "you would trip less if you did not stare so much."

Scowling in response, Dimitri recovered quickly from his most recent stumble over something in his path half-hidden by snow. He paused, leaning down to knock a clod of dirt off the toe of his wet shoe with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Vlad, I'm watching where we're going," he replied lamely, annoyed with himself for not being able to look anywhere but at Anya up ahead and even more irritated with Vladimir for noticing.

Vladimir grunted as he heaved his suitcase from one numb hand to the other. "I see. Perhaps I was mistaken. Again."

But when Dimitri looked his way, the knowing look on Vladimir's face suggested he was certain he wasn't mistaken at all.

Dimitri rolled his eyes and quickened his pace, ignoring Vladimir's smug smile.

The cold breeze, at their backs since they began their trek, was turning harsh and bitter with the sun's desent, now blasting out of the north in frosty squalls that blew snow into the crevices of Dimitri's clothes. Shivering, he continued to watch Anya march through snowbank after snowbank, always yards ahead of them, his resentment the only thing keeping him warm enough to keep walking.

Dimitri gave up trying to talk to her an hour ago. Once she had finished gloating, she refused to respond to anything he said or did to get a rise out of her, defiantly maintaining the breakneck pace that kept her so far ahead Dimitri would have had to yell to be heard. So he fell back, stewing in his general displeasure with the entire situation.

The effort it was taking to keep his arms tucked tightly against his body to conserve heat made the muscles in his back and shoulders ache. Every time he cupped his gloved hands and blew into the empty space, the hot air went cold the instant it left his mouth. Dimitri and his breathless companion continued to trudge along the train tracks, skirting the edge of a black wilderness, each struggling with suitcases heavy with the remnants of St. Petersburg - every step a new soggy, freezing misery.

God only knew where they were going; with no map and a twilight sky thick with low, sooty clouds bearing down upon them, Dimitri was guessing at best. The only thing keeping him from doing an about-face and running straight back to the city was the insurance he always kept hidden in his coat's breast pocket.

Once again, Dimitri gave into the compulsion to let his fingertips graze the nubbed surface of the Romanov jewelry box nestled against his chest. He never trusted its safety to a suitcase; its importance - to their grand plan, to his future - was too great. He never let it out of his sight and never would, not until the day he placed it in the aged hands of the Dowager Empress herself.

A familiar wheezing noise emanating from behind him caught Dimitri's full attention. Instantly concerned, Dimitri turned back and trotted over to Vladimir's side. "You okay?"

Vladimir, obstinate even as he doubled over, waved him off. "I am fine...just...tired..." Then a brutal coughing fit began that made Dimitri's own chest burn with sympathy. He forced Vladimir to take a seat atop one of the suitcases to rest.

"Dimitri," Vladimir grumbled as his chest rattled, "I am fine -"

"Fine my ass." That cough was as familiar to Dimitri as his own heartbeat. Vladimir was pushing it, and if he didn't stop and take it easy, things could get dangerous for him.

Dimitri narrowed his eyes at Vladimir's bravado and stood nearby until the coughing subsided, his hands on his hips. The sun had nearly disappeared from view over the tips of the trees. The darkness around them now seemed merely shades from absolute, as if the ink-like spaces between the foliage at the treeline were moving ever forward, tracking them like prey.

Dimitri hated the dark. Horrible things happened in such an environment; grotesque revelations could lurk there, waiting to be unearthed by the light of day.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Dimitri groaned and willed away the wave of nausea and the memory that had triggered it. There is was again, the stress that nearly always unleashed the memories he tried so desperately to bury. Since he'd met Anya, there had been a constant stream of it.

When Dimitri opened his eyes and looked to where he'd last seen her, he stopped breathing completely.

He couldn't see Anya at all.

Dimitri took off running without another thought.

"Anya! _Anya!_"

The only sound that answered him was the staccato crunch of ice beneath his shoes and the distant howls of predators awakening to feed.

"Shit...ANYA!"

Pooka's bark gave her away and Dimitri stopped, his momentum briefly causing him to lose his balance. He chose not to focus on the fact that the relief replacing his momentary panic was so strong it made him lightheaded.

"Anya?" He squinted hard, willing his pupils to dialate further; he could make out a faint, slim silouhette, but nothing more.

"What?" If anything, she sounded perturbed, like he was interrupting something important. She stood close by, but not close enough for Dimitri to reach out and touch her. Not that he wanted to.

Dimitri bristled. "What do you mean, '_what_'? What the hell are you doing? I practically had to run a mile just to catch up to you."

He supposed she sighed but it sounded more like a groan. "How is that my fault if you can't keep up? I don't have time to tiptoe along the tracks like you two."

Dimitri instantly went from being concerned for her safety to wanting to strangle her. What was wrong with her? What woman wanted to tramp around in the icy dark alone, without a map?

"You're out of your mind," he growled.

"What did you want, Dimitri?" she snapped. "If you came down here just to annoy me, you'd better go back where you came from." But Dimitri thought he could hear her teeth chattering.

He sighed. "You need to come back. It's not safe for you to be wandering around out here alone this far head."

"I can take care of myself. Besides, I'm still not speaking to you - "

"Anya, don't be stupid. There's wolves and bears and all kinds of dangerous animals out here and it's freezing cold. We need to stay together."

He felt a twinge in his chest when he caught the hint of desperation in her words.

"I have to keep moving...I can't afford to stop, not now."

"Look, Vlad's in a bad way. He has this...this issue with his chest...anyway, we really should stop for the night. Aside from that, you're a flesh and blood human being, Anya. You are capable of freezing to death or dropping dead from exhaustion or being eaten alive. Then you'll never see Paris. Is that what you want?"

When she didn't respond, Dimitri half-laughed, "That question was rhetorical."

After a moment, Anya exhaled long and hard and a childlike quality crept into her voice. "Is Vlad okay?"

"He will be." Not for the first time, Dimitri was surprised by how quickly a kinship seemed to have been forged between Anya and Vladimir. He knew Vladimir was the only reason Anya wasn't really putting up a fight with Dimitri now.

Another minute passed. Anya said nothing, as if she was still considering walking through the night until she collapsed.

"Fine."

"What?" Dimitri had been distracted for a second, straining to hear any danger that might be prowling nearby.

"I'll come back with you."

"Good. Follow me." He turned to go back to Vladimir.

"Wait - where are you? I can barely see...it's dark as hell out here."

"Here." Dimitri stuck his hand out into empty space.

"Where?"

"Right here." He could hear her light footsteps getting louder as she approached him. "Can you see my hand?"

"Yeah, I think so -"

Anya broke off, but Dimitri didn't have to wonder why. His own brain activity ceased at the same moment, when her fingertips reached out and brushed the tips of his gloves, the hot spark that shot through his body comically at odds with their environment.

So it hadn't been a fluke, an after effect of the alcohol coursing through his blood before their last encounter at the bar on the train. There was no way Dimitri could still deny feeling something between them now. He couldn't speak then if he wanted to, especially when Anya closed her trembling hand around his fingers and murmured through clenched teeth, "God, your hand is so warm."

He coughed, shaking himself. "What-what happened to your gloves?"

"I must have left them on the train." She sniffled. "It's not like I had time to get myself together before you pushed me out of the damn thing."

Dimitri had to smile to himself, grateful that Anya couldn't clearly make out his face. Even in the midst of their lightless exchange, he could tell from her sassy tone that she was still angry. He had no doubt that if she saw his expression she'd think he was making fun and he would be ducking her fist again.

His smile widened. She had actually been ready to fight him, skid row style, like she'd won a bet and was going to beat her payment out of him. It would be no contest, of course - especially since Dimitri would never hurt a female - but he finally had to admit he appreciated a girl with such a fiery disposition.

But that didn't mean he could tolerate her, let alone like her. At all.

That was also, well...ridiculous.

Dimitri quickly extracted his hand and tugged off his gloves, knowing that Anya would somehow make him regret what he was about to do.

"What are you doing?" she demanded when he grabbed her wrist and slapped them into her palm.

"Take them." His decision was not about making Anya comfortable. Dimitri couldn't have her meeting the royal family with frostbitten hands. Absolute necessity was the only reason he would make himself suffer.

She moved to push them back into his hands. "I'm fine. You don't have to -"

"I know," Dimitri insisted. "But I am, so take them."

Still, Anya protested. "I don't need your charity - "

"- Hey, do you hear that sound?" Dimitri asked suddenly.

"Hear what?" Anya asked, her words ringing with instant alarm. She hopped closer to him. "What do you hear?"

"That's the sound of the end of this conversation, Your Highness, so put on the gloves, shut your mouth and follow me back."

He could hear Anya shuffling her feet before she said, "Just don't go too fast, okay?"

Dimitri turned his back to her and said, "Put your hands on my shoulders."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

He waited patiently for Anya to find him in the dark. After a moment, he felt her swatting at the back of his coat. "Higher, Anya."

Her hands patted their way to their target then rested lightly, uncomfortably on his shoulders. Anya delicately cleared her throat. "Okay, go."

Dimitri led her back the way he'd come. Anya stumbled, just like he had, each time obliterating the respectable distance she kept between their bodies.

By the time they reached their luggage, Dimitri had forgotten the cold entirely.


	14. Breaking Stones

_**Surprise! After moving thousands of miles across the country, I have finally settled in enough to finish another chapter. Enjoy :) - J.F**_

* * *

A violent shake to Anya's foot blasted her back into consciousness.

Prying her eyelids apart, she lifted her head slightly with a loud groan only to be assaulted by a searing dissonance of color - fragments of light filtered by the colored panes of a tall stained glass window.

She slapped a hand over her eyes with a wince and lay her head back down, her entire body yelping in exhaustion after struggling through thigh-deep snow in the dark for more hours than she cared to remember. "Ugh, five more minutes, please."

Anya could tell without looking it was Dimitri and not Vladimir looming over her as she lay stretched out on the unforgiving wooden chairs that formed a pew. She could sense the way he seemed to bend the air around him, as if the dark aura that constantly surrounded him sucked in all the energy in the room like a black hole. As it was, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up whenever he was this close to her. But she didn't like to think about that.

"Not today, your highness," he growled. She felt him swat at her shoe hanging over the edge of the chair at the end of the row before he told her, "I don't want to be here any longer than we have to. People ask too many questions in small towns."

Anya rolled over onto her back. Dimitri stood nearby, squinting at the window. The blues and greens and reds produced by the stained glass looked attached to his face, like some kind of colorful, odd-angled pox.

Narrowing her eyes at his profile, Anya wondered why Dimitri was so anxious to leave the general safety of the miniscule chapel built from unfinished logs they'd stumbled upon in the wee hours of morning. "What's wrong with meeting people?" she asked with a wide yawn. "They could probably help us. It's not like we have anything to hide. Right?"

Dimitri didn't acknowledge her, but his look turned so stormy Anya decided not to pursue the topic and asked about Vladimir and Pooka's whereabouts instead.

"He went into the village to see about getting a map about a half hour ago," Dimitri begrudgingly told her as he sat down at the end of the makeshift pew directly in front of her. "Of course, he took the mutt."

Anya sighed, fatigue and the hard chill in the room making her bones ache. "We just got here, Dimitri...you couldn't have let me sleep until he got back?"

He glanced back over his shoulder with an evil little smirk. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Anya sat up then and swung her feet to the floor, her battle senses ignited by the prospect of antagonizing him. She still wasn't over what he did to her on the train; ever since it had taken little for him to rile her. Aside from that, the fact that after all his gloating and posturing he had picked up the wrong suitcase was still too good to be true. She was going to stick it to him every chance she got.

"You know what, why didn't _you_ go get a map? Last time I checked, all of this -" she made a sweeping gesture about the room "- was your fault. Besides, Vlad would've let me sleep after we almost died walking around in the wilderness -"

"Anya, for once in your life, please shut up."

She was on her feet and in the isle next to the window before she realized what happened.

"No," she said through clenched teeth, feeling her body temperature rise dramatically. "And if you wanna make me, I would love to see you try."

Dimitri stood much more slowly and faced her, a strange combination of barely concealed contempt and mild amusement emphasizing the hard lines of his features.

"What's wrong?" she asked mockingly when he only scowled down at her. "Can't face the truth?"

"The truth of what?" His response was sharp, his smile bitter with no hint of humor. "Of how much I wish I would've left your ass in St. Petersburg?"

"Nope. That you don't have a clue what to do next and you're letting Vlad do all the legwork." Anya was beginning to feel slightly manic. As her mouth moved faster and faster and the pitch of her voice began to rise, her brain had less and less to do with her words.

"Can't you take responsibility for once? He gets a map and then what? What are we gonna do about money? How long do you honestly think 80 _rubles_ is gonna last? We could die out here!_ I_ could die out here! I'll never get to Paris, I'll never know..."

Anya hadn't realized just how angry she was with the state they were in - and with whatever it was that was growing between herself and Dimitri she so desperately wanted to smother. For as long as she could remember, Paris and the truth of her identity had been her singular goal. She trusted no one, would depend on no one. There had never been any room in her life for weakness. Knowing so acutely that she needed Dimitri was already too much to bear. There was no way in hell she could allow herself to _want_ him, too.

Dimitri stared at her in silence from beneath furrowed brows, his own rage rolling off him like sweat.

Anya could feel deep within herself that she was closing in on some kind of breaking point. Her feelings were becoming more difficult to strangle every day that passed.

She needed a fight. Luckily for her, Dimitri had more than earned the brunt of her wrath.

But before Anya could open her mouth again to speak, the rays of early morning shifted outside the window, causing a spear of blood red light to fall right across Dimitri's lips.

Then he licked them briefly and all the fight drained out of Anya in an instant.

She swallowed, hard. Tried desperately to remember that Dimitri was the most reckless, infuriating, most uncomprehensibly selfish human being she'd ever known.

But she was suddenly aware that she'd moved closer to him during her brief tirade and now stood mere inches from his face.

From very full lips, she had to admit, that were the most perfectly formed she had ever seen.

That now-familar hot rush returned, instantly transforming her anger into something else entirely as his dark eyes bore into hers.

Anya could hardly think for the hot chills assaulting her body, thinking of the night before when their fingertips brushed as he handed her his gloves. She'd felt something, a spark, gone so quickly she'd thought she imagined it. But now, standing close enough to her adversary to feel the heat from his body seep into hers, she didn't have to wonder any more.

His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke again.

"Maybe I should've let Vlad babysit you after all."

Anya couldn't look away from his mouth. "You think he could handle me better?" she almost croaked.

He chuckled. Anya watched his Adam's apple bob. "No...but if I wanted to 'handle' you, you'd be handled already."

The challenge she heard in his voice hit like a bolt of lightning right between her thighs.

Chest heaving, Anya realized she was in very dangerous territory. She knew she should do something to break this hold he seemed to have on her, to turn her back and walk away.

Chewing her bottom lip, she glanced back up and caught his gaze, disgusted by her inability to turn away from him.

She'd warned Dimitri when they met against him putting his hands on her, but in this moment, Anya found that she never wanted anyone to touch her so badly in her entire life.

"Like I said," she heard herself whisper, "I'd like to see you try -"

Vladimir's voice booming across the room finally broke the spell.

"I see you are getting along," he said brightly, sidestepping toward them down Dimitri's pew row with a long roll of paper under one arm and a wriggling Pooka under the other.

Ducking her head to hide the blush staining her cheeks, Anya spun around and practically stumbled back to her own pew, feeling as if she'd just been defeated in battle.

Dimitri remained where he was and crossed his arms over his chest. "Something like that," he told Vladimir, and Anya could feel his eyes on her.

Vladimir grunted his approval and announced, "I have a map. There is a pub in the village. We should get food and discuss how to proceed."

"Well, let's go." Dimitri grabbed Vladimir's suitcase and headed for the door. Anya avoided eye contact with him as she eased Pooka from Vladimir's arms and followed them outside.

A light snowfall began as they walked into a rough village carved out of a patch of forest east of the train tracks, composed of perhaps fifteen families and built around what looked to be a hunting camp for wild game. Aside from the chapel, it was just large enough for a communal meat processing area near the tree line and the tiny centralized pub. Foot traffic on the main dirt path into the community's center was sparce due to the early hour, and the few weathered men and women Anya saw emerge from any of the thatch-roofed wooden houses eyed the three of them with obvious mistrust.

The bald man behind the bar seemed to be the most congenial fellow around, nodding grimly as they stepped inside the dark room and made for the least rickety table near the fire.

A boy wearing an apron stained with old blood emerged from somewhere behind them and placed a meal presumably prearranged by Vladimir in front of each of them - liver, potatoes and boiled vegetables for the men, a bowl of hot broth for Anya - before slinking away again without a word. Stomach growling, Anya eyed Dimitri's and Vladimir's steaming plates with unconcealed envy as they began to eat, Dimitri with a distinct masculine grace Anya had never noticed before. When neither of them seemed to notice her pining for meat and they began to converse quietly about their plans, she resigned to pick up her spoon and taste her thin soup.

She was mid-slurp when she felt Dimitri watching her again.

Anya resisted the temptation to meet his eyes but made a conscious effort to sit up straighter and sip from the spoon without a sound the way she learned during their lesson back on the train. All the while she pretended that the sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades was caused by the fireplace at her back and not Dimitri's hot stare.

"According to the gentleman who owns the pub," Vladimir began in a low voice after their plates had been set aside and Dimitri had rolled the map out flat on the table, "we are approximately 25 kilometers from Ludza, here." Vladimir placed a finger on the site of the small town, so small it nearly disappeared into a crease in the stained paper.

Dimitri considered the map, tapping thoughtfully on his chin before he looked up at Vladimir with skepticism. "And how are we getting to Ludza exactly?"

Vladimir didn't blink. "We walk."

Dimitri cursed.

Anya looked back and forth between them, thinking of the holes she was already wearing into her boots. "So we're walking to Paris?"

Dimitri looked as if he was suprised to discover her still sitting there, she'd been so quiet for so long. "No, Your Grace...we're taking a boat in Germany."

"So we're walking to Germany, then?"

"There is a bus we will take," Vladimir explained as he traced the path on the map, "once we arrive in Ludza that will take us through Poland to the German border. From there we go to the port in Stralsund. That boat will eventually arrive in Le Havre, France."

Frowning slightly at Vladimir's curiously spot-on pronunciation of the French town, Anya quickly put her questions aside when she noticed that Dimitri and Vladimir had already shut her out of their conversation again.

Her nerves were already stretched to the breaking point. Dimitri suddenly pretending that she didn't exist while she sat embroiled in an internal battle was about to push her over the edge.

"Excuse me - " she started to interrupt tersely, but when Dimitri suddenly pushed his plate and its nice-sized chunk of liver towards her on the table, the words died on her lips. He only raised his eyebrows at her before resuming his hushed discussion with Vladimir without breaking a stride.

Anya stared.

He knew she was still starving, despite how hard she'd tried to hide it. There hadn't been that much meat to begin with; she knew he could have polished it off with no problem and still have been hungry himself. But he had saved it.

For her.

Her heartbeat picked up for no reason at all.

Anya finished his plate with a deep breath and trembling hands, with manners fit for the table of the czar himself. Then she jumped up out of her seat and told the men they could meet her outside when they were ready.

The sooner they got to Paris and Dimitri was out of her life - and her head - the better.


	15. Fork in the Road: Part 1

**_Part 2 of this chapter coming up soon :)_**

* * *

The train debacle had dealt a serious blow to Dimitri's ego as a trade professional.

Since their impromptu escape, his mind had been consumed with scrambling to salvage the remains of a con that was supposed to be the crown jewel of all his deceptions. It became apparent, however, that somewhere during the fireside discussions with Vladimir about money woes and route-planning, Anya herself - the key ingredient to that con - became an afterthought.

Two whole days had passed before Dimitri noticed how she made a point to sit on the opposing side of their campfires, avoiding eye contact altogether, hardly speaking.

Dimitri knew something was wrong when he realized just how long he'd gone without bearing the brunt of her usually sharp tongue. He should have enjoyed her unusual reserve, but there was an uneasiness about it that encouraged cold sweats. If he thought a petulant Anya was difficult to stomach before, he found the sullen, brooding version almost intolerable.

Punching his fists into his pockets, he continued to trail behind her, frowning at the forest floor as he picked his way through the half-dead vegetation.

He cursed when he lost his balance again while kicking some brush from his path. The exhaustion that made him unsteady on his feet had little to do with the miles of walking or meager consumption of food.

Dimitri was worn out from his need to watch Anya's every move. He hadn't slept much since the train - first because of his panic, then because he'd learned she liked to wander off - and it somehow wasn't enough to know exactly where she was. He needed to_ see_ her. He had an investment to protect. Anya's unexpected resistance only made his urge to tighten the leash that much stronger.

Dimitri called her name. She didn't so much as slow her pace.

In a burst of frustration, Dimitri flicked one of the offshoots he'd stripped from a dead branch at the back of Anya's head.

She barely flinched. Pausing for a second when the tiny stick whizzed past her ear, she turned around only to nail him with a homicidal glare before resuming her search for wood not soaked by the melting snow.

That was the only direct response she'd given Dimitri in the last four days.

Four days, six hours and - he checked his watch - seventeen minutes.

Give or take.

Dimitri passed a hand over his face with a sigh, knowing he should feel grateful. He'd lost count of how many times since St. Petersburg he'd considered taping her mouth shut. Or knocking her over the head and dragging her by the ankles the rest of the way to Paris in blessed silence as a last resort.

Still, no matter how many times he told himself that he wasn't supposed to care - that he _didn't_ care, goddamit - Anya's sudden refusal to acknowledge his presence irked him in a way that made no sense at all.

Even once he became aware of the invisible wall she had erected around herself since they left the village, Dimitri had his own reasons for why he hadn't considered breaching it until now.

If they didn't speak, she wouldn't look at him. If she didn't look at him, his chest would be in no danger of becoming vice-tight, like he could never suck in a breath deep enough for normal respiration again.

And if he could breathe, he could think straight - a once-effortless ability that eluded him since they met. Then he could get them to Paris safe and sound, trade Anya for his millions, and cut all ties. Easy, clean. Like it was always supposed to be.

But nothing in Dimitri's world was ever that simple, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

After all, didn't he get her out of the city, as promised? True, his methods turned out to be a bit...unorthodox, but he'd thus far kept his end of the bargain, hadn't he? And afterward, even though she didn't deserve it, he tried hard to be nice to her. And all Dimitri got in return as thanks were tight lips and caustic silence.

Ungrateful brat.

His jaw clenched. He was done entertaining Anya's nonsense. It was time to remind her who was running the show.

Dimitri broke into a jog, hustling up to Anya's side before thrusting himself directly into her path. She was searching the ground so intently she ran into him with her armload of firewood.

As she backed up a few steps and her eyes snapped up to his, he demanded, "You are going to stand here, right now, and tell me what the hell your problem is." He rubbed absently at his chest where a stick had poked him.

Anya raised an eyebrow and barked out a nasty laugh. "Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said." Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest and tried to focus somewhere on Anya's forehead, recalling the odd sensation akin to suffocating direct eye contact with her produced at such close range.

His aggravation turned into confusion when Anya suddenly began looking all around her, as if she was searching for something.

"Oh - you're talking to me?" she finally asked him, her words bloated with sarcasm. Then she hit him with the most venomous scowl he'd seen yet. "So I haven't been invisible this whole time? Are you sure, Dimitri?"

Dimitri frowned down at her, now just as confused as he was angry. "What are you talking about?" He kept his voice as low as he could, but he still couldn't keep from gritting his teeth hard enough to feel his jaw pop. He should try harder to stay calm; this could get out of hand if he couldn't keep it together. He took a deep breath to keep from shaking her.

Anya said nothing, only pursed her lips and watched him through slitted eyes.

"Well?" Dimitri prompted. When she still said nothing, he threw his hands up in exasperation. "You plan on spitting it out sometime today?"

"Oh, now you want to include me in your conversation?"

"What?"

"I can't think of one I've been a part of lately," Anya ground out. "Can you?"

Dimitri's scowl deepened. So that's what this was about? She was pouting because her feelings were hurt by some imaginary slight? "Anya, you're insane. We never intentionally excluded you from a conversation - "

"Bullshit." Anya made a quick move to brush past him, but Dimitri blocked her with his shoulder. He couldn't risk touching her anywhere with his hands. Not after what happened to him last time.

"No, _this_ is bullshit," he shot back as she stumbled backward again, her face contorted into a picture of disbelief. Her lips thinned. Dimitri didn't back down. "Don't run. You obviously have something to say; stop being a pussy and say it."

Anya didn't speak, but her cheeks turned ruddy just before she tried to rush him again. Dimitri could have blocked her just as easily as the first time, but elected to knock the bundle of firewood she was carrying to the ground for emphasis. This argument would be on his terms for once.

He almost regretted it when he saw how quickly her eyes changed from the dusky blue of open sea to that of the purest, hottest flame. Although he would never admit it to anyone, Dimitri wondered for a fleeting second if he should fear for his life.

Anya stood unnaturally still as she turned her gaze from Dimitri to the firewood now scattered at her feet in the snow. She squeezed her eyes closed, her hands balled into little fists. After a long moment, she spoke so softly Dimitri had to strain to hear her.

"You have no idea how hard I'm trying not to kill you right now."

Dimitri snorted, but took a step away from her just in case. "Please. For what? Neither Vlad nor I have done anything to you except save you from what would have been a really bad situation. I still don't understand what the problem is -"

"You talk about me like I'm not even there, Dimitri!" Anya exploded. "You and Vlad sit there day after day, planning my goddamn life, and don't ask me shit -"

"That's because you don't_ know_ shit!" Dimitri shouted back. So much for diplomacy. "What did you expect us to do? Ask for your advice? If we could borrow some money? I can tell just by looking at you that not only have you probably never seen more than twenty _rubles_ at one time in your life, you couldn't find your way out of the city if somebody paid you, let alone get into another country. Vlad and I had it covered."

Anya's silence felt heavy as lead; Dimitri could see her legs shaking. His fists clenched and unclenched inside his jacket. Her rage seemed to be a reflection of his own, and Dimitri fed off what she was projecting, blood thrumming in his temples.

Her eyes gleamed as her nostrils flared. "Go to hell, Dimitri," she spat.

Dimitri flashed her a sinister grin. "Ladies first."

A high-pitched screech, so sudden it made Dimitri jump, ripped from Anya's throat. Instinct alone made him duck just in time to avoid the tree branch she lobbed at his head.

And the next one.

And the one after that.

"You are the most disgusting -"

" - Anya, stop!"

" - selfish, smug bastard - "

Anya continued her relentless assault as he scrambled for cover, yelling some of the most creative curses he'd ever heard while flinging anything she could get her hands on at him once she ran out of sticks. He couldn't get anywhere near her for the flying debris, but when a chunk of dirty ice bounced off his cheek, Dimitri lunged forward with a roar and tackled her, forcing her to stagger backward until her back hit the trunk of a nearby pine.

She let out a sharp squeak of surprise, then immediately began to struggle. Dimitri grabbed her wrists and forced them over her head. He anticipated her attempt to use her knees against him and leaned into her with his full body weight to still any further movement.

His fury evaporated when he became aware of the thrust of her chest against his with every rapid breath she gulped down, the sharp points of her hip bones pressing into him through their clothes. It was as if he could feel every hard angle of Anya's body - he could hardly call them curves - like there was no fabric between them.

Anya stilled; Dimitri panted into the tree bark, next to her ear. The heat from her flushed cheeks burned against the flesh of his neck. She inexplicably smelled of wet earth and strawberries.

He could do nothing to stop the trembling that took over as the spark he felt before returned, this time as an inferno that flared through his veins. Dimitri was so shaken he was almost afraid to look at her, but he forced himself to draw back and peer at her face. Anya's hands gradually relaxed in his hold. Her gloved fingers curled toward him as if in surrender. She wet her parted lips and stared back at him, unblinking and unnerving.

Her arms still held high above her head, Anya grunted and tried to move her legs again. Dimitri instinctively pressed his body more firmly against hers, anchoring her to the tree with his hips, just as her eyes fluttered closed and she -

But no, she couldn't have. That couldn't have been a whimper he heard. Could it?

He may have imagined it in his half-aroused, half-horrified state. But even if the keening sound was just in his mind, the possibility alone nearly made him groan out loud.

They were both filthy, and he was freezing, but an even colder chill blasted through him with the knowledge that he could take this bony, foul-mouthed orphan right now, up against this tree or on the ground among the dead leaves, without a second thought.

Dimitri blinked. He _wanted_ her.

Jesus, how was that even possible? Aside from the fact that he preferred his women much older than himself and with a lot more meat on their bones, Anya was just.._.Anya, _for god's sake. Childish and aggravating, with about as much sex appeal as a snot-nosed kid sister with measles.

The distinct tingling in his balls seemed at odds with that school of thought.

Oh, God.

Anya made what felt like a last-ditch effort to yank her hands free of Dimitri's, but he only gripped her wrists tighter. But not too tight. He didn't want to break her.

The strange light that entered her eyes caught him by surprise. He was used to seeing nothing there for him but contempt whenever he dared to look.

"Dimitri, let me go." Her voice, barely a whisper, sounded strained. He still stood close enough to feel her words on his lips.

"You sure you're done with all the crazy?"

She nodded, a little too eagerly, eyes like saucers. Dimitri's brows lowered when he noticed she was looking past him, over his shoulder.

He gave her a puzzled look. "What -" Then he heard, of all things...snuffling.

Dimitri loosened his grip on Anya and half-turned, as slowly as he could. And when he saw what was nosing around a stand of trees merely a few yards away, he wished he had never looked.


End file.
